


Role of a Lifetime

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Tony, First Kiss, First Meeting, First Time, Happy Ending, Identity Porn, M/M, Multiple Captain Americas, No Love Triangle, Secret Identity, Steve is Captain America, Steve isn't from the 1940s, Tony POV, Tony is a SHIELD Consultant, Tony isn't Iron Man, Top Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-09-19 03:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: It’s been almost a year since Tony was rescued from the Ten Rings by SHIELD. In this time, Tony has forged a new path for Stark Industries and taken on a new under-the-radar role as a consultant for SHIELD. Tony’s SHIELD job eventually brings him into contact with the newest Captain America, who’s a pretty cool guy, though for security reasons Tony can’t know his real name or see his face without the Captain America mask. This is also about the time that Tony notices a certain Mr. Stevens, a new hire in SI’s corporate office...





	1. Chapter 1

There are less than a handful of people who have access to the penthouse, so when JARVIS informs Tony that his private elevator is coming up, he assumes that it’s Pepper. It can’t be Rhodey, who’s out of the country; it can’t be Happy, who’d always let Tony know if he’s on his way; and it can’t be Stane, because – well. Tony’s access list is shorter these days.

If they were still in Malibu, Tony would stay where he is and wait for her to find him. That said, if they were in Malibu there’s only a 40% chance that JARVIS would let him know that she’s in the house at all, for Tony’s AI is capable of conspiring with his 2IC to ambush him when he least expects it. But they’re not in Malibu. They’re in New York, in the fast-tracked Stark Tower that is part and parcel of Tony’s rebranding exercise, and which has necessitated some changes in the way they do things.

Tony’s still feeling positive about the whole enterprise, and he’d like Pepper to feel positive right there with him. Hence, instead of waiting for her to hunt him down, Tony sets aside the screen he’d been working on, dusts off his knees, and goes out to see what she needs.

Instead of Pepper in the foyer, there’s a man. Tall, blonde, and with an old-man’s fashion sense – ill-fitting beige blazer and high-waisted corduroy pants – that’s almost more alarming than the fact that he’s in the penthouse.

“Who’re you?” Tony says.

The man jumps and spins around, revealing startled eyes in a face that might make Tony feel inadequate if he were anyone but Tony Stark. The man speaks, his voice flush with awkwardness: “Mr. Stark! Ms. Potts went up to the—”

“Wait, I know you. Uh…” Tony snaps his fingers as he tries to put a name to the handful of people Pepper introduced to him this past week, and should probably make an effort to remember if he wants to reduce the number of things she’ll badger him about. “Stevens?”

Stevens nods, his too-large shoulders shuffling under his too-large blazer. “Yes, Mr. Stark, sir.”

“Where’s Rushman? Natalie?” Tony says.

“She’s—”

“Doesn’t matter. You work for Pepper, right?”

“Actually I work for Ms. Rushman.”

“Who works for Pepper, who works for me. Ergo, I’m your boss three times removed. You busy? Can you carry things?”

Stevens blinks, trying to keep up. “Yes?”

“C’mon.” Tony leads the way to the front of the penthouse, where the circular arc of the windows look over the helipad. He’d been installing hologram projectors along the ceiling earlier this morning, so the ladder is still there. He points at Stevens to hold said ladder, while Tony clambers up onto it. “You see that, the black frames with the lights on them? When I say, you hand them up to me.”

Stevens takes a-hold of the ladder, but swings a skeptical gaze from Tony to projectors and back. “Aren’t there people who can do this for you…?”

“You want hazard pay, Stevens? Is that what you’re after? You know what – bill me. It’s fine.” Tony parks his ass on the topmost step and pulls out the multi-screwdriver from his pocket. “Plans are good and all, but sometimes you only know what a place needs once you’re actually there. You know what I mean?”

“I… suppose so.”

“Hand me the first bar, yep, that one.” Tony gets to work, while Stevens provides an assist and a remarkably strong hand in keeping the ladder stable. “You from around here, Stevens? How’re you liking SI so far?”

“Uh.”

“Too much?” Tony’s never been able to get any reaction from Rushman aside from mild amusement, so Stevens’s bewilderment makes for a nice change of pace. “It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me anything. Fib, if you like.”

“No, no,” Stevens says quickly. “I am from around here. Brooklyn, actually.”

“Oh dear. Should I or should I not ask your opinion on the Tower?”

“It’s… eye-catching.”

“Neutral, non-combative. Very good. And SI?”

“Has been really educational and interesting so far, sir, Mr. Stark.”

Tony whistles. “I suppose I can’t get you to call me Tony?”

“Probably not, Mr. Stark.”

Tony barks a laugh. Stevens’s mouth crinkles, too, as though he knows how ridiculous that sounds but decided to say it anyway. An earnest guy, but with a stubborn streak, Tony thinks. Uncomfortable with the task at hand but trying to do a good job anyway. Perhaps he’s just trying to please for the sake of the big boss, but if so, he’s better at tamping down the eagerness that’s more typical of new hires. Different from Rushman, which should make them an interesting work-pair.

“Tony!” Pepper exclaims. Her heels clack against the floor as she rushes towards them. “I thought you were in the workshop. What are you – what happened to the original—”

“Not big enough,” Tony says. “I thought I could use this area for a group workplace, since it’s already large enough—”

“And dragging Stevens into this—”

“I don’t mind, ma’am,” Stevens says.

“See, he doesn’t mind,” Tony says.

“He works for you, he’s supposed to say that,” Pepper says.

“As opposed to you,” Tony points out, “who also works for me, yet have spent more than a decade telling me in full and excruciating detail how much you _don’t_ like the decisions I make.”

Pepper takes a breath. She exchanges a quick look with Stevens, who merely smiles placidly in return. Tony knows how it goes – he’s a handful, but Pepper will not hear one word against him from anyone, which means she will not say one word within hearing distance of anyone who could relay said word down the line into the rest of the company.

“I’m with you on all your new directions,” Pepper says, “but you need to tell me if you’re going to make further changes.”

“Whoa.” Tony smacks hand up to the frame to lock it in place and takes two long steps off the ladder onto the ground, while Pepper winces. “It’s just projectors, Ms. Potts. Not tossing out the company’s mission statement.”

“Because you’ve already done that,” Pepper says dryly.

“Because I’ve already done that.” Tony spins on Stevens, whose brown eyes flicker back and forth between his bosses. “Did you get hired before or after the changeover?”

“After,” Stevens says.

“How do you feel about—”

“Tony,” Pepper warns.

“—my idea to set up a wide-screen all across the view, right there.” Tony holds a hand out, palm outward, and sweeps over the curve of the windows. “Right there. Best way to watch _Star Wars_, wouldn’t you say.”

“Um,” Stevens says. “I’d wonder why you have the view at all, if you’re going to put a screen on top of it.”

“First of, good comment! Take note, Ms. Potts. Second, it’s not a physical screen. The glass is dual-layered, so it can switch from—”

“Tony, please, focus,” Pepper says, inching in with her clipboard. It’s half-classic leather and half-electronic, and she wields the board like a weapon, blocking Tony from further dragging Stevens into the tangent of his home renovations project. “Procurement forms.”

“Oh,” Tony says, squinting down at the pages of text. “Is that why you’re here? Not to check in on the new place? What are your thoughts, Mr. Stevens?”

“It’s very nice, Mr. Stark,” Stevens says evenly.

“A decent effort at being polite,” Tony says with a grin. “Which part do you find too much? The open bar? The sunken couch? It’s okay, you can say it.”

Stevens flushes and immediately drops his gaze to the floor, while Pepper huffs in amusement.

“You haven’t even seen the stripper poles yet,” Tony adds.

“Sign, Tony,” Pepper says.

“What am I signing? Oh, never mind.” The stylus dances in Tony’s fingers as he moves from page to page, eyes skimming over paragraphs and keywords that JARVIS read out to him earlier. Pepper holds the tablet upright, while Stevens braces a hand underneath to keep it steady. Every so often Tony catches the slight pinch between Stevens’s eyes – not unlike the face Rushman makes whenever Tony seems to be signing things he’s not reading.

“Thank you,” Pepper says when he’s done. She hands the board off to Stevens, who holds it politely in front of him. “Meeting with R&D at two, do not be late.”

“That’s like being late for Christmas, I would never,” Tony says.

“It’d be nice if you came down to your office every once in a while, too,” Pepper says.

“Office?” Tony echoes. “I have an office, Stevens?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” Stevens says. “It’s really nice. Ms. Potts chose the wallpaper.”

“I should come see it, then.” Tony walks them up to the elevator, and hangs back while the two step inside: Pepper, tall and sharp in the crisp lines of her burgundy pantsuit, and Stevens, taller yet somehow not, and frumpy-charming with his neatly-combed hair and boring beige.

“Don’t be strangers, now!” Tony calls out. He waits until the elevator door closes, then says: “JARVIS, memo to Ms. Potts about office-wear.”

“_Yes, sir?_” JARVIS says.

“Actually, scratch that.” Tony sighs. Turning over a leaf _probably_ includes not being too judgy about other people’s fashion tastes, even if they are SI staff and technically reflect on him. After all, it’s not as if Stevens is building weapons that have ended up on the black market and are being used by terrorists against civilian targets on the regular. Ha.

To JARVIS, Tony says: “Bump up the budget for the corporate office’s dress allowance. She’ll get the hint, if she wants to.”

“_Very good, sir_.”

+

There are a couple of reasons why Tony pushed for Stark Tower’s completion ahead of schedule. The public reason, which has been told to shareholders and staff and press alike, is that it is a part of Stark Industries’ effort to fully reinvent itself following Tony’s rescue from Afghanistan and dismantling of its weapons division. A physical facelift in relocation, as it were.

This is true.

SI’s other offices and manufacturing plants are still active, but their restructuring is a lengthy and complicated process, in which Pepper is shoulders-deep. It’s really only because of her that Tony’s able to go ahead at all, his eyes set on carving out the path ahead – green tech, comms, medical, defense tech, etc. A veritable smorgasbord of technological pies from the grand bakery that is Stark Tower that, in hopeful theory, will lead to a future that is not as necessarily mediocre-to-shitty as it would otherwise be.

But there are other reasons for the move to New York. The one Tony uses to placate Rhodey and Happy is what happened with Stane. After Obadiah’s treachery was revealed, it’s only natural that Tony would want a break from Malibu and the mansion. This reason is true as well.

The other reason, known to none of the aforementioned bosom buddies of Tony’s, ties to the reason that there’s a second, secret private elevator in Stark Tower, which leads from the penthouse to Tony’s second underground workshop, and from there links up to an expansive underground facility that is many a-Cold War fiction-writer’s wet dream.

Frankly speaking, Tony prefers to travel to SHIELD’s facilities by helicopter. But when Nick Fury suggested interlinking Stark Tower with the underground network they already had, well. Tony couldn’t resist. A decent trade-off to his always being within reach of SHIELD, is that SHIELD is within reach of _him_.

There’s also something to be said about only needing to take a elevator to go to _both_ his jobs.

This fine evening when Tony goes to the underground workshop to see what’s up, he gets a message that Maria Hill is waiting. In fact, she is waiting for him just outside the workshop in an open-top jeep.

“Stark,” Hill says in greeting.

“A personal pick-up.” Tony locks down the workshop and takes a running jump into the seat next to her. “I am concerned.”

“Red-letter day, so to speak,” Hill says. “Introductions in store.”

“I am on tenterhooks.”

Hill kicks the jeep into gear and they’re off down the long, non-descript tunnel that’s lit at intervals like some sci-fi horror movie waiting to happen. Tony once asked Fury if he could add some décor; Fury had just given him a look, but that wasn’t a_ no_. Once the rest of the Tower is fully up and running, Tony’s going to add some pizzazz down here, starting with disco lights that change colors depending on who’s in the tunnels.

While Hill makes small talk, Tony skims the tablet she’s handed over, which is full of updates on the past few days. It’s a tiny fraction of what SHIELD gets up to on the regular because that’s as far as Tony’s security clearance gets him, but it’s better than nothing. Sure, Howard was much higher up the SHIELD food chain than Tony is, but Tony still has a role to play, and he’ll play it.

“That looks nasty.” Tony pulls the footage from the dogfight in Kazakhstan from a few days ago, featuring a small, human-sized shape barreling in the air while trying to take down the smoking Quadjet. Tony had been part of the prep team, but hadn’t heard anything of the post-op until today. Hill nods solemnly, which doesn’t make Tony feel better. “Cap doing okay?”

“Actually, not so much,” Hill says.

“Damn,” Tony says. “Cradle?”

Hill nods. “Cho’s with him, but Fury’s put him on forced leave.”

“Hah, bet he’s taking to that easy-peasy.”

“Better than expected, but only because he knows about the contingency plan.” When Tony looks at her questioningly, Hill just smiles. “You’ll see.”

They arrive at the underground building block that’s Tony’s usual scene, which is identifiable by a series of numbers but hell if he can remember what they are. Tony tends to think of it as the Gas Station, i.e. the last installation (and chance for snacks and gear) before the tunnels lead out into the grand SHIELD highway. A couple of SHIELD agents are milling around outside the building, though they snap to attention as Hill and Tony go past (for Hill, not for Tony).

Inside the block, Hill takes her leave while Tony goes to his usual post, i.e. the prototype workshop. Well _technically_ it’s a workshop, and it was meant for Tony, but there’s no way in hell that Tony’s tinkering in a space he didn’t design and build himself, so mostly it’s used for fabrication, testing and unofficial meetings with Fury and Hill. A couple of techies are in here picking up some vests – they nod at him before taking their things and heading out – so Tony wanders over to the computers to see what’s new.

It’s while Tony’s browsing the latest field test results that he registers footsteps approaching. He assumes that it’s Hill or Fury, what with Cap being out of commission.

Hence, Tony is startled when he looks up and standing there is… Cap.

Captain America, defender of justice and freedom, and the result of a recent revival of a ‘failed’ World War II super soldier program that at the time only succeeded in catapulting one Peggy Carter into the propaganda-yet-also-functional role of Captain Britain, as she’s remembered in the annals of history. While Carter saved the world and smashed glass ceilings in her spare time, for decades she’d seemed to be a one-off, never to be replicated. Up until Fury got his hands on some earlier experimental variations of Erskine’s formula a couple of years ago, and a red-white-and-blue figure – male, this time – quietly appeared in the margins of international incidents and cryptid pop culture.

When Fury recruited Tony into SHIELD, Cap had been active for a few years already, and was gaining traction as a person to be reckoned with. Fury put Tony onto Cap’s tech crew (among other roles he has in general), and so he did his part in upgrading Cap’s suit, wings and gear. Although they’d never reached a first-name basis thanks to that pesky security clearance, Tony knows some things about the guy.

_This_ guy, however. He has the wide shoulders and the buff arms and the thick thighs, all of which are encased in the red, white and blue modified Kevlar, along with the helmet-cowl up top, plus the gauntlets and boots. All of that is right, but it is also immediately wrong.

“Who the hell are you?” Tony says.

“Ah,” Captain America says. “Not as straightforward an answer to that as you might think.” Different voice, similar confidence, the syllables more clipped instead of drawled.

“The contingency plan!” Hill calls out.

Tony leans around not-Cap to search out Hill, who’s walking towards them in approach. “Since when is Captain America white?” he says.

“Tony, you can’t just ask people why they’re white,” Hill says.

“It’s a fair question,” Captain America says.

“Holy shit,” Tony says. “Did you synthesize the full serum?”

“Not exactly,” Hill says, coming to halt by the computer station. She nods at the man – Cap, except _not_ Cap, except he is? “Cho and Banner are still working on it, but they’ve only gotten as far as the healing factor.”

“I can do everything Cap does,” Captain America says, “just… slower. And without flying.”

“You don’t fly?” Tony says. “What use is a Cap who doesn’t fly?”

“What use is a Cap who’s stuck in bed?” Captain America counters. “Can’t save the world when you’re in traction.”

“Oh, _wow_.” Tony finds himself grinning. It’s weird to see a clean-shaven jaw instead of regular Cap’s smashing goatee, but the blue eyes inside the cowl that meet Tony’s without flinching are impressive. “Okay, you got the sass right.”

“Much to Fury’s delight,” Hill says. “Anyway, yes – contingency. Cap trained this guy, and they’ve been working ops together for the past year. He’s just taking the cowl until Cap gets back on his feet, then we’ll see how it goes.”

“You got a name?” Tony says.

“Yeah,” Captain America says. “Cap.”

Tony snorts. “And that is not confusing to anyone?”

“Captain America is the active callsign,” Hill says. “As far as SHIELD and anyone else looking at us are concerned, there is just the one Cap, and this is him. Outsiders will figure out they’re not the same person underneath, sure, but the point is continuity, not deception. Functionality, missions, documentation, all of it – will not change. This is Captain America, and the other guy currently in recovery has the temporary callsign ‘Falcon’, right up until he’s back in the saddle.”

“That sounds needlessly complicated, which of course is how SHIELD prefers it.” Tony pushes himself away from the computer and wiggles his fingers in the air gleefully. Breaking in a new Captain America sounds fascinating, which makes up for the long week of trying to get the Tower’s R&D teams settled in and running.

“Okay, let’s get you your gear,” Tony says. “I got it from here, Hill, thanks.”

The substitute Captain – _Cap_, as Tony will have to get used to calling him – nods, and follows Tony deeper into the workshop while Hill takes off for other business.

“First of,” Tony says, not waiting for Cap to keep up, “I’m not SHIELD, so don’t expect me to behave like ‘em.”

“I won’t,” Cap says. “You’re a consultant, right, Stark?”

“Yeah, but it’s on the hush-hush.” Tony pulls open a holographic spread sheet and tosses a starter kit onto the pile. “I mean, it’s not a secret that SHIELD calls me in sometimes, but Fury prefers to downplay how much I do for y’all, and that’s exactly the way I like it.”

Cap tilts his head. “Because of Stark Industries?”

“Exactly. On the one hand, I’m telling my shareholders that I’m not making weapons anymore, and on the other hand, I’ve gotten into a personal contract with an intelligence agency? Sure, I’m doing comms and defense hardware for you, _not _weapons, but it’s not like they’d believe me even if I pinky swear. So we keep the two separate and everyone’s happy.”

“Happy-ish,” Cap suggests, with a lilt of amusement.

“Heh. Yeah, happy-ish.”

“We appreciate it, though. I know your father was a founding member of SHIELD, but you didn’t have to get involved, even if Fury sought you out.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. But here we are. Fury, Hill, and uh, well, _you _have me on speed dial. You have a question, I’ll do my best to answer, and I _might _drop everything in case of emergencies, but saving the world on the regular is your business, not mine.”

“I’ll try my best.”

The dance of Tony’s fingers on the keyboard pauses, and he looks up. Cap is standing at rest, his hands holding onto the front of his belt, and his head tilted as he watches Tony. It’s hard to read through the cowl that covers most of his face, but Tony thinks Cap might be frowning.

“Stark?” Cap says. “What is it?”

“Have we met before?” Tony says, while Cap blinks in surprise. Something in Cap’s statement, the steady earnestness of it or the like, pinged oddly. “Sorry, I mean, uh… You worked with original Cap, right? Were you with the squad that pulled me from…?”

“The Ten Rings?” Cap doesn’t lower his voice at the mention of Tony’s kidnappers, not the way some of the other SHIELD agents do, as if Tony’s in danger of swooning. But Cap isn’t taunting, either; Tony knows the meaning of Rumlow’s tone whenever he mentions that episode – aww, poor little rich guy got banged up for few weeks, boo hoo. It just is, and Cap holds Tony’s gaze as he says it – acknowledging and respectful.

“No,” Cap says. “I wasn’t there. I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner, though.”

“Eh, can’t complain.” Tony waves off the moment, and returns to poking at the starter kit. “Ignore me. I just had some weird kinda-déjà vu for a second there.”

“I _am_ wearing hand-me-downs,” Cap points out.

Tony laughs. “Okay, yeah, that’s true. I see they adjusted the suit for you but they’re going to have to do a hell of a lot more than that moving forward, and also – are you really not going to fly?”

“I can,” Cap says, matter-of-fact instead of prideful. “I’m just not as good as he is, so I’d rather not unless I have to.”

“Then what’re you replacing it with?”

“Replacing?”

“If you’re not gonna fly, you damn well better have some other kick-ass hook. What’ll it be?”

Cap hesitates. Or maybe he’s contemplating how much to tell, because Tony isn’t SHIELD, and is still mostly a stranger. But then he reaches over to the keyboard and taps a key phrase, pulling up an inventory item. A 3D wireframe projection of the item spins in the air.

“The vibranium shield?” Tony says in surprise. “The one that Carter used?”

“I know the other guy takes it out sometimes, but it gets in the way of his wings.”

Tony looks at Cap speculatively. He’s built, sure, but most SHIELD field agents are built. He hasn’t kicked off any alarms of undue cockiness in Tony’s head yet either, unlike some _other_ people that has necessitated Fury’s agreeing to Tony only working directly with a handful of agents when it comes to SHIELD business. The vibranium shield takes more than strength and speed; it requires calculation, muscle-memory, and a certain savoir faire that – true enough – is in rough equivalent to what it takes to strap titanium-enhanced mylar wings onto one’s back.

“I need to see you use it,” Tony says. “Then we’ll talk.”

Cap stands up to his full height, an unfurling of strength and muscle that’s different from the way regular Cap does it. “We can do it now,” he says. “Test room.”

“You brought the shield with you?”

“It’s in DC. But you can program a virtual dummy, right?”

Tony starts. Cap did the _reading_. “Yes, I can. All right, let’s see what you’ve got.”

It’s a productive evening. He and Captain America spend almost two hours in the test/training room, in which Cap jumps and flips and throws a virtual shield meant to mimic the real thing, while Tony sits at the control station, measures everything, and offers suggestions that Cap sometimes listens to and sometimes doesn’t.

It’s not long at all before Tony wants to see Cap wield the real shield. Cap doesn’t ask for it, but Tony writes a memo for Hill and Fury, advising them to look into putting the shield in his regular inventory, because letting that thing gather dust in the vault because they respect Carter so much may _not_ necessarily be the best way to honor her legacy.

By the end of the session, Tony’s not a hundred per cent convinced this new guy is Captain America, but he _is_ convinced that the guy is a hundred per cent ready to give it his best shot_._ Which, considering how difficult it was to find the first Cap, and how long the world didn’t have any a supersoldier at all since Carter, is actually pretty impressive.

+

Quasi-juggling Stark Industries and SHIELD isn’t as tricky as it may sound. Tony’s only a consultant with SHIELD, which means that they have only about eight to sixteen hours of his time each week, which is already inclusive of workshop time.

As for Stark Industries, Tony’s latest move has been to slowly and steadily increase Pepper’s responsibilities, shaping her up as the CEO they need and will accept. Tony plans to announce that once the Tower’s self-sustaining power systems are fully installed (Pepper’s going to be so surprised), though the timeline on that one is a little fuzzier than he likes.

For now, though, Tony’s still CEO, which involves showing his face and taking photos and appearing in meetings every so often. In effect, this means that a couple of hours with SHIELD in the evenings usually leads into mild-mannered billionaire activities the next day.

Tony’s been doing this for a few months now, since just after the Afghanistan kidnapping and Captain America – almost a literal one-man army – came to his rescue. Seemed only natural to (conditionally) accept Fury’s offer to be a SHIELD consultant after that. Good thing Tony did, too, because that’s how they found out that Stane was behind the kidnapping in the first place.

But the arrangement in Malibu was scattered and ad hoc. It’s only once Tony moved to the Tower in New York that a regular schedule eased into being, and so far it’s been working out just nicely. Sure, there’s a surrealness in spending his evenings debating espionage tech with literal spy Nick Fury, and his daytime fielding budget power point presentations, but it serves a purpose.

A Tuesday morning brings with it the urge for Tony to go down the Tower and visit the corporate office. He’d made a note to do that the last time it was brought up, but he’d forgotten until he remembered.

So he puts on a suit and tie (mostly to get a rise out of Pepper) and goes down.

Tony’s private elevator has never stopped on this floor before, which means that when the doors open, there’s a half-dozen startled faces out on the open floor.

“As you were.” Tony steps out, hands clasped behind his back, and fails to look intimidating. He’s met most of the people currently scuttling around, but damn if he can remember more than a handful of their names. “Rushman!”

Natalie Rushman, in an impeccable blouse and pencil skirt, comes up towards him. She’s not running, though she has the air of a woman who could gallop a marathon in six-inch heels if the occasion called for it. Stevens is just behind her, clutching folders in one hand and a bright red Stark Industries mug in the other – the latter of which, to Tony’s surprise, he holds out.

“Uh.” Tony eyes the mug in Stevens’s hand, not touching despite alluring aroma of coffee. “Isn’t that yours?”

“Freshly brewed, sir,” Stevens says, breathless.

“You want me to steal your coffee?” Tony asks.

Stevens puts the mug on the edge of a nearby table. “Can’t steal when the whole building’s yours, technically?”

“Oh well,” Tony says lightly as he picks up the mug, “but only because you insist.”

“We’re glad for you to join us, Mr. Stark,” Rushman says, smiling that mysterious smile that’s confounded Tony since Malibu. Tony has a constant, contrary urge to disappoint Rushman, not unlike the way he used to feel with Pepper back in the early days, before she figured out that’s just how he reacts to efficient people. “Ms. Potts is in a meeting, but I’d be happy to show you around.”

Rushman starts walking, ostensibly in leading Tony to his office, which he doesn’t actually know the location of.

The corporate office itself takes up two floors that are in turn a handful of floors underneath the penthouse, so the view through the wraparound windows are still pretty damn awesome. Tony’s been living in the Tower a few weeks by this point but hadn’t come down here because, hey, moving one’s domicile must be done properly and requires one’s full attention. He does love what Pepper’s done with the place though, even if the walls could use more color.

He skids to a halt by one of the walkways, peering down at a glass-enclosed room at the far end. The room’s empty save for a long table set with chairs and facing a presentation board.

“Mr. Stark?” Rushman says.

“Are there meeting rooms on this floor?” Tony says.

“Two,” Rushman says. “That’s one of them, yes.”

“Too small,” Tony says. “Knock that glass out, push that sitting area back, open it up. Put in soundproofing and a kick-ass sound system. You’ve seen my presentations, yes?”

Rushman’s smile just grows more polite. “I have.”

Tony swings round to look at Stevens, who says quickly, “Only on youtube, Mr. Stark.”

“But that’s still enough to know that _that’s_ not enough for what I need,” Tony says.

“We have three auditoriums and a press conference hall downstairs,” Rushman says.

“Sure, but this is for the personal touch,” Tony says, with a hint of whine that has Rushman’s shoulders tightening subtly. “My favorite shareholders, led in by hand and a glass of champagne. Yes, add that to the room, too – a mini bar.”

Tony registers a couple of other staff standing nearby and close enough to listen in. One of them – Karen, Tony thinks is her name – even exchanges a look with her colleague, both of them smiling. _That’s Tony Stark for you._

“Well, that’s…” Rushman trails off when Tony beams at her. “I’ll see to it, Mr. Stark.”

Tony claps. “Excellent! Now, where’s my office?”

Rushman and Stevens take him there, surprising him with a tasteful installation with a similar feel to the office he had out west, but with Pepper’s touch in the choice of furniture and artwork on the wall. The windows overlook the opposite view as the one he gets from the penthouse, which is a nice detail.

Tony puts the coffee mug down and moves around the desk to drop into the faux-leather chair. The chair shifts under his weight but does _not_ squeak at all, making it easy for Tony to lift his legs up and cross his ankles on the edge of the table. There’s a gold-embossed stationery kit at a corner, and Tony grabs at it, pulling out two _Stark Industries_-printed USBs that he tosses up and catches.

Not bad at all, Ms. Potts.

Rushman and Stevens hover by the doorway; the latter quiet and the former explaining the various amenities and thought put into the design of the room.

“How goes my company? Any new scandals today?” Tony says.

“Would you like another update on top of the one Ms. Potts sent to your inbox this morning?” Rushman says.

“She sent me an update? Of course she did. Forget my own head next. Pull it up for me, would you?”

Tony takes another gulp of the coffee while Rushman pulls out a virtual keyboard from the other side of the desk – another nice touch – and brings the screen on the wall to life. Tony’s seen most of it, but he takes note of which info Rushman chooses to pull up for him – stock exchange, two news feeds, a selection of R&D projects and the Tower’s current performance status among others.

Meanwhile, Stevens is watching Rushman at work with an openly curious expression. Tony had wondered if Stevens has been able to keep up with Pepper, let alone Rushman, but here he is. Good for him. His fashion sense hasn’t improved, though – just more with the grandfather blazers that are technically decent quality, but ill-fitting around the chest and arms. Tony wonders if there’s a polite way to ask him to stand up straight, too.

There’s no hiding that face, though. The guy’s startlingly handsome, despite the low-level anxiousness that keeps his mouth slack and his eyes constantly moving.

It’s funny. Here’s Rushman, a literal former model who dresses and looks and acts it, but Tony’s attention is on the dude who looks like his weekend hobby is thrifting for the elderly. No harm in just looking, of course.

“Stevens,” Tony says, drawing the two syllables out longer than they need to be. Stevens flushes self-consciously. “Are you here for Rushman or for me?”

“Oh,” Stevens says. “Uh.”

“It’s his job to shadow me when I’m around, Mr. Stark,” Rushman says.

“Oh, good. I was wondering if there was some policy that there have to be two people wrangling me at any given moment. Not that I mind… two.” Tony pauses, letting the implication linger. Rushman doesn’t react, though Stevens drops his gaze to the floor, which is kinda precious. “Or more.”

“Should I pull up our HR policies as well?” Rushman says, easy and teasing, though Tony gets the hint and lifts his hands in surrender.

“I hear you,” Tony says. “My apologies, Mr. Stevens. I do not want to make our staff uncomfortable.”

“Well, um…” Stevens’s eyes flicker to Rushman briefly. “Anyone accepting a job here should know what to expect, Mr. Stark.”

“True,” Tony says. “Oh, look, here comes the wind beneath my wings.”

The door is already wide open, though if it weren’t, Pepper would fling it back dramatically. As it is, she comes to a halt in the doorway, somehow filling up the entirety of the open space like a well-dressed exclamation mark.

“Tony!” Pepper exclaims.

“Hey, Ms. Potts,” Tony says. “Thought I’d come down and say hi.”

Pepper takes a steadying breath before turning to smile at her staff. “Thank you, Natalie. Rudy. I can take it from here.”

“Ms. Potts is, obviously, worth at least two people, though probably more,” Tony says. To Pepper herself, he adds: “I had a few comments about the floor layout, actually. Ms. Rushman can get you up to speed on that later.”

Pepper presses her lips together, though her smile is far more honest than Rushman’s. “Of course you do.”

The other two make their exit – Rushman is technically the better view, but Stevens is a mysteriously compelling tall stretch of brown – and Pepper closes the door behind them. She’s still smiling, though she shakes her head at Tony as she takes the chair opposite his desk.

“Are you testing my people?” Pepper asks.

“Only a little.” Tony grins. “C’mon, I can’t help myself. Let’s talk about the building. I saw the power usage numbers, we need to poke at that.”

“God, yes,” Pepper agrees, pulling her tablet out. “Thank you.”

As they dive into it, Tony’s attention wanders every so often to Stevens’s mug, which is now mostly empty. It was a small gesture to give this – small and boring and absolutely unremarkable. Yet Tony finds himself tapping the rim of the mug contemplatively.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s like that for a few weeks – Stark Industries and SHIELD; SHIELD and Stark Industries.

More of Stark Tower’s floors are filled up, eventually reaching 60% capacity, and their pilot testing of the local grid starts in earnest. The new Captain America goes on a couple of missions, which are successful, and Tony adds on a bunch of goodies to his toybox every time he returns with feedback.

The two threads stay apart as much as Tony can manage, but sometimes they do brush up against each other. One Wednesday afternoon such a brush-up occurs when Tony gets a call on his private line that SHIELD needs him in ASAP, something to do with the hellicarrier.

Unfortunately, Tony’s in the middle of a golf game with a bunch of high-rollers – fellow billionaires and two politicians among them – when the call comes in. He reads the encrypted message, tucks his phone away, and puts on a grin that’s as sheepish-cocky as he can manage, which is pretty damn sheepishly cocky. “You will not believe this.”

“Tony,” Pepper says. She’s on the course with them today, as is Rushman. The latter is frighteningly good with a nine iron, and comes to a surprising rescue when Tony says that something’s comes up.

“It must be an emergency,” Rushman says, her eyes wide.

“Oh, yeah,” Tony says. “Time-sensitive, too.” He tosses out a joke about non-disclosure and the importance of putting a lid on distorted intel, which gets some of the other players nodding sagely and Pepper’s eyes glittering with mutiny. It’s crude, but it accomplishes a goal, and Tony’s off.

Tony tips his caddie but drives the cart himself, all the way to the parking lot where Happy’s been notified to get the car warmed up and ready. He makes it to the pick-up point in record time, where Coulson and Captain America are waiting for him with a Quinjet.

“You’re kidding me,” Tony says as he climbs into the Quinjet. “You’re getting called in for this, too?”

“Seems serious,” Cap says.

“Fury didn’t tell you, either?” Tony looks at Coulson. “How ‘bout you?”

“I prefer to be pleasantly surprised when he _does_ tell me things,” Coulson says good-naturedly.

“Philosophical,” Tony says.

While Cap pilots the Quinjet, Tony does his best to compose a contrite but not too-heartfelt message to send to Pepper to explain his sudden exit. He doesn’t get very far on it.

Through the Quinjet window, layers of clouds drift down and the hellicarrier comes into view. Tony’s only been up there once, so he’s not above putting his phone down to watch as the mammoth of engineering grows larger in their approach.

SHIELD’s headquarters are in DC, while the underground tunnels serve to connect various SHIELD bases and other connections unseen. The hellicarrier, though? That’s for mobility. Eyes in the sky, a floating fortress of the kind found in the sci-fi mags of Tony’s childhood and he now gets to _actually_ play with – sort of. The hellicarrier they’re approaching wasn’t designed by him, but the next few? Oh boy.

“Never gets old, does it?” Cap says.

“That ancient thing?” Tony says.

It’s not gotten any easier to read Cap’s expressions through the cowl, but that’s unmistakably a smirk. “That ancient thing, yes.”

“Yeah, okay, it’s pretty cool,” Tony says.

Cap brings the Quinjet in for a smooth dock, and Tony’s the first to disembark. Fury’s waiting for them personally, all dramatic in his usual full-black.

“This better be important,” Tony says. “Not that I dislike getting pulled from a delightful eighteen holes with the hoi polloi.”

“Coulson, get up to the flight deck,” Fury says. “Cap, Stark? With me.”

Fury briefs them as they walk. Tony listens, but he also drinks in the details of the hellicarrier itself as they make their way through the corridors. They only see a handful of agents as they pass, making it seem like Fury’s working with a near-skeleton crew, as compared to the last time Tony came on-board. Unless everyone’s gathered in flight deck and the hangars, but that’s supposed to be the case only when they’re in combat mode. Supposedly.

Their eventual destination is the hellicarrier’s server room, where a laptop is waiting for Tony.

“Jesus, Fury,” Tony says with a sigh. “I can do this by remote.”

“You need to be on site,” Fury says.

“I know you’re touchy about no one getting a peek in on what you got rattling around, but…” Tony pulls the stool up anyway and parks himself on it. “You owe me big time for this.”

“What are you not saying?” Cap says. Tony looks over at the guy, intrigued by the command in his tone. Tony hasn’t had the chance to hear this Cap’s boss voice until now, and it’s startling to hear it in use against Fury, of all people.

Fury doesn’t seem to mind, though. “I have a couple of ideas about what’s happening, and I don’t like a single one of them. And I’d rather not tell Stark what they are, so he won’t go in with pre-conceived notions. That work for you?”

“Makes sense,” Tony says.

“Still dangerous,” Cap says. “Stark, you started?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony’s fingers fly, and he dives into the hellicarrier’s security protocols in search of whatever weakness has Fury’s hackles up. Fury’s instructions are vague – he _thinks_ something’s going on, but won’t elaborate what it is, only that he’d like a fresh pair of eyes looking in and plucking out anything suspicious.

While Tony works, Fury leaves and Cap settles on another stool. The server room is cold, which would’ve been a problem if Tony were just in his golf duds, but he’d had the futurist’s foresight to put a SHIELD jacket on back in the Quinjet. Sure, the jacket is not as flattering as Tony would’ve preferred, but it’s functional.

“Ugh, I hate working in the quiet,” Tony mutters. “Would’ve brought my tunes if I knew.”

“Nothing on your phone?”

“Up here?” Tony scoffs. “Fury’s a bud, but I’d rather put my phone on lockdown while I’m here. It’s no big deal, it’s just, the sooner I’m done with this the better.”

Tony’s only been in this Cap’s presence a handful of times thus far, but those sessions have always been productive, and every minute made to count. _This_ is weird – Cap’s just sitting there, still and alert as a sniper, which has Tony’s skin prickling with discomfort.

“Must be a bummer for you,” Tony says. “Being a glorified bodyguard.”

“To your glorified tech support?” Cap says.

Tony cracks up. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“I don’t mind,” Cap says. “If it’s important, I’ll do it.”

“Hmm. Would it be rude to ask the glorified bodyguard if he can get coffee for me?”

“Safety vs. coffee, hmm.”

“Yeah, I’m sure these servers are going to gain spontaneous sentience and eat me in the five minutes it’d take to find coffee. There’s a machine one deck above, right? Near the bunk quarters?”

“They moved it,” Cap says. “For productivity’s sake.”

“For productivity…” Tony barks a laugh. “To get people _out_ of the bunk quarters in search of coffee? Yes, good. I see why Fury’s the spy of spies.”

The chatting helps. It’s a whole lot of nothing, but it keeps a segment of Tony’s restless brain occupied while the rest of him peels apart reams and reams of code. There are a few weak points in the hellicarrier’s systems, but they’re pedestrian loopholes that are easily plugged. Nothing that speaks of a concerted attack, which Fury seemed more concerned with.

“Hey, maybe you can help me out,” Tony says. “I need to send a message to Pep – sorry, that’s Pepper Potts, she’s my 2IC – about my skedaddling from work today.”

“Your second doesn’t know about your work with SHIELD?” Cap asks.

“The consultancy itself, sure. But she kinda thinks I’m spending a few hours every other weekend at SHIELD HQ in DC, and that’s it.”

“Ah,” Cap says, the syllable a low rumble of amusement. “I’m sure you did nothing to encourage that line of thinking.”

“Hey asshole, I am not a spy,” Tony says cheerfully. “I don’t—”

The code on the screen jumps. Not necessarily indicative of something happening _to_ the code, but it does mean that there’s been a power surge somewhere. Tony immediately lifts his hands off the keyboard, and in the few seconds of waiting, the server room lights, which had been a calming blue, suddenly switch to red.

Cap’s up on his feet and holds a hand out, a command for Tony to stay seated while he checks what’s going on outside. Cap goes to do just that, and Tony looks at his watch, noting how many hours he’s been away, and how long before they hit sunset. If he’s lucky, he can get back by dinner and then—

Cap marches back in. “Carrier’s on lockdown. The code Fury just put out says sabotage.”

“What?” Tony jumps to his feet. “Okay. Cap, I’m not an agent, I don’t do this.”

“I know.” Cap pulls the taser-gun from the back of his belt and hands it over. “I’m going to get you to a safe—”

“We’re in the air, there is no _safe_. Where’s Fury?”

“Flight deck.”

“Okay.” Tony backs up and returns to the laptop. “I’m going to get into cameras and see what’s happening.”

To his surprise, Cap doesn’t disagree. In fact, Cap stays close behind Tony’s shoulder as he pulls up the video feeds. Tony was right about the hellicarrier running on a skeleton crew, and as it turns out most of said crew have either been locked off in various modules, or herded onto the flight deck by a crew of people in dark blue combat gear, inclusive of full-face masks and goggles.

“They’ve locked down flight,” Tony says. “You know these guys?”

“No name tags,” Cap says dryly. “Sorry. No, I don’t know them.”

“How’d they get in?” A thought occurs, and Tony quickly types out a command that locks the server room doors. If these people want to take over the hellicarrier for their use, it’s just a matter of time before they send someone down here. “Do you think Fury had a feeling something like this was going to happen? And it’s somehow happening _right now_?”

“The bad news: you’re on board while this is going down,” Cap says. “The good news: so am I.”

Tony’s not panicking, exactly. He’s shocked and dismayed, but any actual fear is still brewing at a theoretical distance, waiting for the scope of the danger to make itself known. Even so, that fear-brewing takes a further step away at the calm assurance in Cap’s voice. He’s got this. He’ll get this. He’s ready for an ass-kicking.

“Die Hard on a hellicarrier,” Tony says.

Cap makes a sound – a huff, which could be a laugh. “Right. You stay here. Put comms on, I want you in my ear.”

“Gotcha,” Tony says. “I’m going to prep a couple of Quinjets, too, if you don’t mind.”

“Good idea,” Cap says.

They hash out a rough plan. There isn’t a single cell in Tony’s body that wants to be here for this, but even so, there’s a thrill in seeing Cap roll his shoulders and stand straight in battle readiness, the vibranium shield in one hand as he steps out of the server room. He nods at Tony before he goes, and Tony relocks the door behind him.

And here Tony thought that the most interesting thing that would happen today would be Pullman trying to lie again about his handicap out on the course. Sitting tight through an actual hijacking of a SHIELD hellicarrier isn’t an improvement, though there’s something to be said about having the chance to be helpful. That’s why Tony agreed to be a consultant, isn’t it? He didn’t mean to be actively involved like _this_, but it’s roughly within the same ballpark.

As Tony remotely talks Cap through the hostiles dotting the ship all the way to the engine room, he finds his thoughts drifting to his father. Did Howard do stuff like this? There’s a lot about Howard’s time in SHIELD that Tony doesn’t know the extent of, but he cannot at all imagine the guy sitting at comms, reading out intel to Peggy Carter during a mission.

When Tony took Fury’s offer to become a consultant, it occurred to him that in doing so, he was merely living up (down?) to his father’s legacy. Howard had a hand in setting up both SI and SHIELD, and a couple of decades on here’s his son Tony, who’d coasted down the path he’d had in front of him since birth, and ended up at the same two destinations.

But Tony feels, in his bones, that what he’s doing is different. He’s not Howard, and he’s not merely repeating history. The other way to look at it is that Howard set these two projects going, for good or for ill, and only someone with Tony’s position is able to steer them towards newer, updated goals. Stark Industries is already being carefully knocked into a new trajectory. As for SHIELD – well, sure, Tony isn’t important in SHIELD, but his coming in as an external consultant, not beholden to the norms of SHIELD yet having the ear of its top two, gives him a say in what he hopes will be a better future.

Plus, he gets to literally help Captain America take down bad guys. Just this once, anyway.

“That’s it,” Tony says, scrolling down the navigation code. “You’ve locked them in, they can’t steer the ship.”

“_Good. What about Coulson?_”

“I’ve got him, he’s waiting for you at… the storage room ‘round the corner of the second deck artillery.”

“_Got it. I also need you to—_” A burst of static cuts off what Cap says next.

“What was that?” Tony presses at the earpiece. “Cap?”

“_Explosion.”_

There’s a stylus next to the laptop, and it’s now rolling slowly towards the edge of the table. Tony didn’t hear the explosion, but he can feel the aftermath – the hellicarrier is tipping. Tony closes his eyes to orient himself, noting that it must have been the port bow engine that blew. They can still fly with three, but the fact that they’re tipping at all means that it’s a deliberate attempt to bring the hellicarrier down.

“_Stark_,” Cap snaps. “_You need to get to a Quinjet._”

“Roger that.” Tony taps at his phone, linking it up to the server. He should have done this sooner, but he’s been distracted, so sue him. While he waits for the link to stabilize, he gets into the aforementioned navigation systems and starts bringing the hellicarrier down. They’re still over water, which is a good thing, but is also a bad thing.

“You gon’ owe me _so much_,” Tony mutters as he keeps typing. “Santa Fury better be damn nice to me this year.”

On the laptop screen, there are two small windows still open to the CCTV footage. In one of them, Cap and Coulson are inching their way to the flight deck.

“_Let me know when you’re about to exit_,” Cap says. “_I’m going in_.”

“Will do,” Tony says, still typing. And he keeps typing, with his eye every so often drifting to the CCTV window.

Tony’s seen Cap fight, but only in training. Now he sees him – albeit through the filter of a low-res camera – in full action, and more than once Tony has to shake himself out of staring at the footage and keep typing.

When Cap said he doesn’t fly, Tony’s initial disparaging reaction may have been a bit hasty. Original Cap (Falcon Cap) used flight, speed and superhuman accuracy from a distance in service of the job, and Tony may have allowed that to cloud his judgment a little. He thought that Cap (_this_ Cap) relied on brute strength and the shield. Which he _does_, but those are not the only things he relies on.

When Cap moves, it’s like watching a goddamned dance. He’s a parkour gymnast who makes full use of his surroundings, moving from two dimensions to three in flipping off tables and walls and even people_. _The shield seems to defy physics, but so do the mundane objects that Cap weaponizes – including a keyboard, a walkie-talkie, and a computer cable – in taking out one enemy combatant after another. Violence for its own sake is awful and shitty, but Cap moves with crystal clear function to the goal, and no more.

The SHIELD agents around him that join the fight are all competent and capable people, yet Cap still stands out. The way Cap – _all_ the Caps – have managed to do.

“_Stark_,” Cap says in the comms. “_Are you off the ‘carrier?_”

“Some of them are making a run for it,” Tony says. “Wait, one of them is in the engine room, he’s uh – well, okay, he’s shooting the shit up.”

“_That doesn’t answer my question_.” On the screen, Cap yells an order to the agents to evacuate. The agents start running, though Fury hangs back to make sure everyone’s out first. “_I better see you in a Quinjet in two._”

“Not if I see you first.” Tony grabs his phone and runs out of the server room.

The route to the hangar is straightforward, though it’s a little less straightforward when he has to evade one, and then more, of the hijackers. The taser-gun comes into good use, as do a couple of less-than-smooth hand-to-hand moves (thank you, Rhodey), after which Tony keeps going, keeps running, all the way down to where the two Quinjets are docked.

There’s a fight down here, too. Coulson is right in the thick of it, but there’s no sign of Cap or Fury. Tony stays out of it; he’s been trying to get into better shape since Afghanistan, and Happy’s always happy to go in the ring with him, but he’s no soldier, and he knows better than to press his luck.

Someone must hit the command console, because the bay doors start to open. Cold wind roars in, and Tony can see water in the distance. The hellicarrier is coming down at a reasonable speed, but it’s still too fast for Tony’s purpose.

With one hand holding on a support beam, Tony opens his phone. It’s still linked to the hellicarrier controls, so he sets his thumb rushing over the screen in trying to slow the vehicle down. Grunts and gasps of pain seem a distant soundtrack as he focuses.

Another explosion. The hellicarrier groans and rattles and tips further, while one of the Quinjets skid on the surface towards him. Tony lets go to get out of the way, but in doing so loses his balance. His feet leave the floor, and the second stretches into confusion, bewilderment, and then understanding.

He’s falling. He’s fallen out the bay doors.

Tony has sky-dived a couple of times. One of those times even featured a malfunction with his parachute (the spare worked fine), so his brain works fine under immediate peril. He may not have a parachute _this_ time, but he’s capable of calculating distance, speed, angle of impact, and chances of survival if he manages to maneuver into an optimal dive. The odds are not good, he admits.

It’s hard to breathe, but there’s still enough air in Tony’s lungs that he’s winded when something slams into him.

Oh. Not something, _someone_. Cap’s arm comes around Tony, as does the vibranium shield, blocking Tony’s view of the oncoming ocean surface.

If Tony could speak, he’d say something like: flying capabilities sure would be swell right about now, wouldn’t it, _Cap_.

Does Cap even have a parachute? Tony did design a couple for him to handle various load weights, but Hill joked that Cap is a traveling-light kind of fella. Tony gets an answer to that question when they jolt sharply – the effect of a parachute snapping open – but Tony’s brain helpfully adds: they’re below the minimum altitude for deployment, aren’t they?

They hit the water, and Tony passes out.

+

It would be nice if Tony could say that waking up with his whole body in pain is a rare occurrence, but he’s kind of been making a habit of it lately.

He wakes slowly, and then reluctantly. His head hurts, his chest hurts, his arms and legs hurt. There’s an IV in his left hand, and the filtered air smells of antiseptic. He makes a noise of exasperation, which brings a rustling of movement nearby.

“Hi, Tony,” comes Dr. Cho’s voice. “You’re safe.”

“But at what cost?” Tony grumbles.

Tony runs a hand over his chest, fingers bumping against the edge of the arc reactor in a force of habit, until Cho gently takes his hand and puts it on the bed. Tony keeps his eyes shut out of petulance, and must fall back to sleep, because when he opens them again, Cho is gone.

He recognizes the room. He hasn’t been in this specific bed before, but this is one of SHIELD’s underground facilities back in New York. Fury – who’s currently in the room and sitting in a chair by the wall – has been nice enough to give Tony one of the few private recovery rooms. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed, for Fury could just as easily be wearing the same black trenchcoat, or one of the no doubt many other near-identical trenchcoats in his wardrobe.

Tony’s arms shake when he tries to sit up. Fury comes over to help with the bed remote, but draws the line at fluffing the pillows for him.

“So. Need-to-know basis?” Tony says sardonically.

“Twelve of them came on my hellicarrier,” Fury says. “Twelve. That number is fucking insulting.”

“Twelve can’t take a ship, but it can bring it down,” Tony says.

But Fury isn’t comforted. “Four died, six escaped, and two were captured but took their own lives before I could question them.”

“God damn.”

“What’d you find on my boat?”

“A couple of bugs, but nothing major. Careless, instead of intentional. That’s what it looked like, anyway. However they got on board, it wasn’t via brute hack – they only took control of the systems _after. _Did you recover the servers to check?”

“Yes, I have a team on it.” Fury shakes his head, irritable. “You really didn’t see anything that looked like an attack?”

“I wish I did.” Tony holds Fury’s eye, and the man nods slowly. “Did my phone survive the fall? Ugh. Espionage work is significantly less glamorous than I was led to believe.”

“I’m glad you’re okay, Stark,” Fury says.

Tony grins. “Is that you admitting that you made a mistake calling me to board your boat?”

“No.”

Fury did, however, bring him a laptop, which keeps Tony occupied over the next couple of hours once Fury leaves to investigate the hijack and yell at people. During these long hours of waiting for his body to stop feeling like boiled spaghetti, Cho checks up on Tony and brings him food. The food itself isn’t bad (Tony imagines some SHIELD intern running up into the city for takeout), but Tony’s stomach doesn’t feel like it could hold anything down at the moment.

The knock at the door, when it comes, is unexpected. Cho doesn’t knock, and Fury has better things to do than worry about other people’s privacy, so Tony stops wrestling with the dinky mousepad out of sheer surprise.

“Yeah?” Tony calls out.

The door opens and Cap enters. While Cap closes the door behind him, Tony takes a quick glance down his own chest, checking that the light of arc reactor isn’t visible, though of course Cho has done him the solid of preemptively changing him into a darker shirt for exactly that reason.

“Hey,” Tony says. “How’re you doing? You okay?”

Again, Tony rues his inability to read Cap through the cowl, though he’s currently getting a faint waft of confusion off the man. “You’re asking _me_?” Cap says.

“Saw some of it through the cameras,” Tony says. “You… well. Whoever does SHIELD recruitment needs a bonus, if nothing else.”

“Yet you didn’t leave when I told you to.” Cap doesn’t sound angry, or even disappointed. “What was that about?”

“I was trying to save the hellicarrier. It was going to crash one way or another, and if she kept tipping over like that—”

“I know what you did.” Cap goes to chair Fury was in a few hours ago, and pulls it along the wall so that it’s slightly closer to the bed. He sits, and it’s then that Tony sees weariness in the bend of his back. He’s seen that in Rhodey often enough. “It was a good move, and Fury won’t be able to thank you enough.”

“Okay?”

“It’s just.” Cap’s chest heaves when he takes a breath. After all the commanding power that Tony saw in action today (yesterday, actually), it’s startling to hear him speak haltingly. “I know I’m not really Captain America.”

“What?”

“I’m the spare, and that’s okay, I’m more than happy to do it,” Cap says, nodding more to himself than to Tony. “But functionally—”

“Let me get this straight,” Tony drawls, amused despite the hunch of Cap’s shoulders. “You think that if _other_ Cap ordered me to hightail it, I’d do it. Is that it?”

Cap blinks. “That’s… yes?”

“I wouldn’t even do it for Fury, smart-ass.” Tony rolls his eyes, while Cap keeps staring at him. “I told you that I’m not SHIELD. This is what it means. You’re not special. I’m an equal-opportunity free thinker.”

Cap is taken aback, and Tony’s taken aback by Cap’s being taken aback. Hot on the heels of this ouroboros is the realization of what’s actually going on. While Tony’s taken easily to the idea of a substitute Cap, maybe it’s been less easy for the man himself. These are big shoes for anyone to fill, even for someone strong, capable, and trusted.

Tony looks at Cap. _Really_ looks at him, and tries to parse the fullness of the fact that there’s a flesh-and-blood man underneath that helmet. Sure, Tony’s always known there’s a man there, just like every single seemingly-faceless SHIELD agent and army soldier and USAF officer is also a human being with hopes and hobbies and a mostly-mundane life elsewhere (even Hill, as strange as that may fit in Tony’s head), but it’s a truth that doesn’t always come under close scrutiny.

Cap is a capable and confident SHIELD agent who’s brave enough to try on a heavy mantle, but he’s also only human. Tony tries to picture the winding path of life that stretched out before Cap got to where he is today: a youth somewhere in Middle America, maybe, to a rambunctious kid who kept skinning his knees but kept getting back up, to a young man with dreams of serving his country, and eventually coming to SHIELD.

It’s probably inaccurate, but whatever. It’s a history, and Cap has one, even if not exactly _that _one. That’s… something to think about.

“You’re doing pretty good,” Tony says. “I mean. I don’t go out into the field with you, so I don’t actually _know_ how that’s going. But you’re sharp, you’re steady, you pick things up real quick, and you’re not an asshole to the little guy. That last one, that’s important, if you want to be Captain America.”

There’s not telling if Cap believes him, but Tony hopes so.

“And hey! You saved my life,” Tony reminds him. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“God, no,” Cap says quickly. “Not owing – _no_.”

“Relax, would you? Think of it like a Captain America checklist. Other Cap saved me from the Rings, and you saved me from becoming a splat on the ocean surface.” When Cap’s mouth twists, Tony says slowly, “What about the rest of the crew? Any casualties?”

“Not on our side, no,” Cap says, exhaling with relief. “Bruises, broken bones, yes, but not more than that.”

“There you go. Good job, Cap. Glad we can count on you.” Tony bobs a fist forward in the air, as though to bump it against Cap’s shoulder, except for the part where Cap is out of reach and trying not to smile. “You forget. I’m not military, but I’m not civilian, either. I don’t _like_ being thrown out of airborne vehicles, but it had to happen eventually. Would’ve preferred a parachute, though.”

“Yours worked really well,” Cap says. “Even accounting for the additional weight.”

“There we go, another tick in the plus column.”

“But if I had the wings, I could have—”

“You didn’t,” Tony says. “But Falcon’s strength is in open spaces, not enclosed ones, and the hellicarrier was the latter. So it works out, yeah? I bet even Carter would think you did a good job.”

Cap’s a grown soldier with biceps almost as large as Tony’s head, but he sounds way too hopeful when he says, “You think?”

“Carter brought out the best in people. But she also wanted people to bring out their best by _themselves_, isn’t it? Which means trying, not giving up, the whole nine yards. The Cap title has nothing to do with it.”

Cap straightens up, enthralled. “You know a lot about her? Not the stuff from books, I mean.”

“My dad toed the propaganda line pretty neat. But my mom? Yeah, she knew Carter as a friend, before she got the serum. The role as ‘Captain’ changed over time, you know that, right? From the pin-up they tried to make out of her, into the symbol to focus people’s hopes _and_ distract the bad guys from others. She thought of it more as a responsibility than an honor.”

“I did get that feeling. My mom—” Cap says, startling Tony into imagining a young boy wearing a pint-sized cowl and helmet, “—gave me a book, I can’t remember the title anymore, but it was one of those picture-books about Captain Carter. I read it, and then I went to the library to read more about her and, uh… she was my hero.”

“Figures,” Tony says with a laugh. “I used to think about going out into the ice to find her. My mom and dad gave up on looking for her before I was born but it was… I don’t know. It’s still sad she’s out there.”

“It is,” Cap says fervently. “I was deployed north once. I…” He pauses, as though realizing he may have said too much. Tony shrugs, uncaring if Cap wants to keep going or not. When Cap presses on, it’s with the same deep-gut determination he uses to bark orders: “There are kind of… legends among the soldiers that get posted up there. They ask Captain Carter for luck through snowstorms and pack ice.”

“You, too?”

Cap shrugs, charmingly unembarrassed. “Why not.”

“Why not, indeed.” Tony sighs and taps his finger on the laptop’s mousepad, snapping the screensaver back to the schematics he’d been futzing with. “Maybe she can give us luck with the hellicarriers, too.”

“Fury came to talk to you about it?”

“Yep. Well, ‘talk’. I’m sure the guy’s keeping the greater chunk of his worries tight to the vest.”

“You… know what it means,” Cap says carefully.

“An inside job, mostly likely.” Tony sighs again when Cap nods. “Sabotage. Like he said.”

“I thought they wanted to steal the hellicarrier, but the vectors they put in made no sense. It would have crashed long before reaching any possible landing site.” Cap rubs a gloved hand against his chin thoughtfully. He’s usually sparse with movement around Tony, but these little gestures are coming out more and more. “So either they were not after the hellicarrier itself, but something that was on it.”

“Or they had a rendezvous.”

“Or that,” Cap agrees. “Fury’s leading the investigation himself, so I’m not sure where that’s going.”

The admission is surprising, but the calm resignation accompanying it is not. It’s surreal to be commiserating with Captain America on this, but at the same time, kind of comforting. Nick Fury is Nick Fury to all.

Cap gestures at the laptop with his chin. “Checking your emails?”

“Oh, I’ve been tweaking the new hellicarrier design. I know the next ones are already under construction, but we cannot see a repeat of what just happened. Better engines, better recovery, better failsafes.”

“Have you been working on that all day?” Cap says in disbelief.

“What else am I gonna do? Help Cho sterilize her gloves?” Tony adds quickly, “Not that I’m disparaging her work. She is a literal miracle-worker, but her miracles would work less if I were messing around with her stuff.”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“This _is_ how I rest. What? Are you going to take the laptop away from me? Is that what you’re going to do? Is that something Captain Carter would do?”

Cap crosses his arms. “I think so, yes.”

“I disagree. Carter _and_ Falcon – who is a close, personal friend of mine, by the way—” which is a fib that Caps sees right through, judging by the quirk of his mouth, “—would be moved to sympathy by the awful trauma I have recently endured, and graciously allow me to recover at my own pace.”

“Right,” Cap says.

“Utterly heartless! You should talk to Cho to get me discharged, so I can rest in the comfort of my own home. It’s the least you can do.”

Cap casts his gaze around the room. Tony’s definitely getting better at reading him, because he can definitely tell there’s a frown on his face as he says, “It is boring in here. I thought Fury would have you transferred to a local hospital as soon as possible.” Alas, no, for local hospitals would involve doctors and nurses that Tony does not want to see the arc reactor. “That way you could at least… you know. Friends can visit.”

“Nothing’s broken,” Tony says hopefully. “I got my muscle relaxants and painkillers.”

“I can send you to the Tower drop point. If you promise to rest.”

“Of course I’m going to rest. My whole body’s a goddamned bruise, I’m not going to be riding rollercoasters any time soon.” Tony realizes that Cap’s actually serious, and perks up. “Oh my god. Really? My hero.”

+

Cap sweet-talks Cho into letting Tony go, following which he carefully loads Tony onto one of the tunnel-traipsing jeeps that he drives at an appallingly slow speed down the long tunnel to the Stark Tower drop point. Tony thanks him profusely, just like his mom taught him to.

Tony is _just_ able to stay upright while traveling up the private elevator. Once in the penthouse, he apologizes to JARVIS for not checking in – JARVIS accepts the apology magnanimously – and collapses in bed. (SHIELD’s beds aren’t that bad, but they’re not _his._)

He sleeps. He wakes up, pops some painkillers, and sleeps some more. He thinks that he could spend the next week just lying in bed, as long as he has a computer with him.

But he wakes at 9-ish the next morning, his head pounding, and drags himself to the bathroom. While in there, he absent-mindedly asks JARVIS if there’s anything immediate that needs his attention.

“_Well, Ms. Potts has sent eight messages since Wednesday, sir._”

Tony tips his head back and groans.

See, when Tony told Cap that he’d rest, it was the truth. He wants rest, and he will get it. But he’d also left a thread hanging, which JARVIS did well to remind him about, and he needs to tie that down. The weekend will bring with it a continuous break (and maybe longer, if he can figure out his schedule) but he knows what’s owed.

So Tony has a shower and brushes his teeth. He picks a dark purple shirt, matching jacket, pants, and a pair of tinted glasses with lenses that match the shirt. He fills his _A Stark Reminder_-embossed coffee tumbler to the brim, and goes down to the corporate floor.

Let it never be said that Tony doesn’t know how to make an entrance even out of the mundane.

Tony steps onto the floor and pauses, letting his presence sink in. His hands are not that steady yet (what, falling into water at high speeds _is_ rough on the body, thanks) but the heavy drinks tumbler gives him an anchor as he walks in.

Pepper comes out of her office, ponytail bobbing behind her as she power-walks towards him with purpose. Rushman is just behind her, though she hangs back a little as Pepper comes barreling towards Tony like an avalanche.

“Tony!” Pepper has that little jolt in her voice that comes from her being worried but trying not to show it.

Tony’s own heart lurches a little, but he’s ready. He has an excellent opener – the _best_ opener – for whenever Pepper's in this mood. He says: “I know you’re mad, but it’s not my fault.”

Pepper’s face shifts. Relief, followed by a recalibration of expectations. “It never is,” she says.

“Look, I did my best!” Tony weaves a path towards his office while the rest of the corporate staff make way. He spots Stevens over at the copier and nods a g‘morning. “You can’t say that I didn’t, because nothing got leaked to the tabs, right? See, I’ve been good.”

Pepper’s heels screech on the carpet, which shouldn’t be possible, but she is a woman of many skills. “What?”

“I know, it’s so crazy, right!” Tony smiles apologetically as his slightly-wobbly steps narrowly avoid a young man – one of the interns? – who’s carrying a box past them.

Pepper grabs Tony’s arm to steady him, and is too sharp to miss the way that Tony winces. He hasn’t bothered to lower his voice, but she does: “Are you hungover?”

“Come on,” Tony says, wheedling. “What are the chances of meeting an old friend in DC? So we got to talking, to drinks, and… you know. I mean, can you blame me? I haven’t been to a party since coming to New York, and then, well… I couldn’t just _leave_.”

“Oh my god, Tony.”

“It’s fine, it was all legal!” Tony says. “They were legal, too. All three of them. I checked.”

“Tony,” Pepper says in a low voice. “Are you telling me that you got distracted, and that’s why you haven’t been answering my calls?”

“Twins, plus a really hot blonde,” Tony says promptly. “I’m only human, Pep. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You mean _I’ll_ make it up to me,” Pepper says.

They’ve reached Tony’s office, where Pepper practically tosses Tony inside, to his relief. As she walks away, Tony calls out to her, “What happened to that guy, that guy from the game! Winston? Let’s call him, see what’s up!”

After Pepper’s gone, Tony puts the tumbler on the desk and sits down in the very comfy, very ergonomic chair. Thank goodness his keyboards are all virtual, too – having to deal with the hard keys of Fury’s laptop was hell on his hands. He pulls up the dailies and glances at the timekeeper, estimating that he can get away with three hours, probably less. He’ll need to do a couple of video calls to make up for it.

When Pepper returns to Tony’s office, she’s armed to the teeth with folders and numbers. They go into it like old times with Pepper’s professionalism proving true, for the only comment she makes is a brief, “Whatever you do in your own time is your business. Just don’t leave me hanging out to dry, all right?”

“By day – okay, by _most _of the day – I am all yours, Ms. Potts,” Tony tells her, which at least gets a smile out of her.

Eventually Pepper leaves for a meeting, though only after extracting a promise for Tony to get back to her about some decisions that need to be made on the clean energy project he’s been pushing for.

By this time, the coffee is long-finished and Tony’s feeling just a tad woozy. Another glance at the timekeeper confirms that he can bail for lunch, though, which in effect means bailing for the sweet, sweet pleasure of lying horizontal in his own bed. Not necessarily for sleep, but just… lying down. Giving his back a break. But a knock at the door derails that fantasy.

Tony looks up. “Stevens. ’Sup? Something for me to sign?”

Stevens is holding himself still, yet exudes the air of one who is fidgeting internally. “Mr. Stark, sir. Sorry to bother you, but we had a – there was a training session downstairs, and there’s some food left over.”

Tony’s stomach gurgles. When’s the last time he ate? Oh shit, back at Cho’s.

“It’s,” Stevens says hesitantly, “it’s not that – I know that’s just—”

“What’s on the menu?” Tony says, taking pity on him.

“Pizza.”

“I would absolutely _love_ to have leftover pizza,” Tony says. “But I was just thinking of popping up to the penthouse for a breather.”

“I could bring it up to you? It’s not a bother, really.”

Some days, Tony’s just too tired to look the gift horse in the mouth. “Sure, bring ‘em up,” he says. “I’ll key you to the elevator in say, ten minutes?”

It’s only later, while Tony’s in the penthouse and Stevens has come up as promised with a small stack of pizza boxes, that Tony realizes – _hmm._ Here’s Rudy Stevens of the corporate office, who is by all accounts a hardworking and hapless man who doesn’t stand out (despite the face), and yet who has been able to (if not thrive) then at least function in a high-stress, highly demanding office.

This man has also finagled an invitation into the CEO’s penthouse on nothing more than the delivery of food.

Tony shucks off his jacket and glasses, and gestures for Stevens to put the food on the table in the sunken oval overlooking the helipad. While Tony rummages around the cabinet for plates, he watches as Stevens opens the pizza boxes one by one, and arranges them in a neat row along the table.

“Hey, Stevens!” Tony waits until Stevens is looking at him. “Catch!”

Tony doesn’t actually throw the glass plate. But he does mime it, just to see Stevens’s face drop into panic, his hands thrown out awkwardly for the catch that doesn’t need to happen.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tony says, stifling laughter “My bad.”

Stevens puts a hand on his chest. “Thank you for the heart attack, then.”

“A big strapping lad like you?”

“The pay cut would be a concern, Mr. Stark.”

“You think I’d be petty enough to make _you_ pay for my plates? Okay, yes, I am that petty. But I’d cut it out of Ms. Rushman’s check, not yours.”

“Uh.” Stevens’s eyebrows knit. “How does that follow?”

“Because she’s responsible for you, obviously.”

“Not for this, though, I think.”

“Uh-uh.” Tony comes back to the sunken area, stepping over the edge to join Stevens by the pizza-adorned coffee table. Stevens is a little taller than him, which means that when Tony comes in close to hand him a plate, he gets to tilt his head up some to take a measure of him.

Stevens shuffles a little under the scrutiny, but says nothing. It probably speaks to the circles Tony hangs around in that he’s unused to someone who looks the way Stevens does but doesn’t weaponize said looks. Tony probably needs to get out more, as Happy so does like telling him.

“You _are _after her job, though, aren’t you?” Tony doesn’t mean to drop his voice to a low purr, but Stevens and his nervously-bobbing Adam’s apple seems to call for it. “That’s why you’re being so… helpful.”

“What? No! Oh – a joke.” Stevens pulls his lips back in a hilarious attempt at a smile. “I’m getting a hang of your jokes, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs, though he doesn’t know why, exactly. Stevens’s face is downright precious – hopeful and worried and perpetually anxious – which a part of Tony’s brain insists should be cause for alarm because people like this do not become SI employees. But hidden depths are a thing, of course. There’s obviously more to Stevens than is obvious at a glance, and Tony can respect that.

“Join me, come on.” Tony sits on the couch, and just suppresses a moan at the relief in his legs and lower back. “I can’t finish all of this.”

“Oh. Um.” Stevens sits slowly, though he keeps his knees and legs together, as though he cannot bear to sully the expensive couch.

It’s an unusual lunch, but not an unpleasant one. Tony asks JARVIS to bring down the screen and play something he’s been meaning to watch but hasn’t had time to, though admittedly he still doesn’t get much watching in when there’s one Rudy Stevens to look at and contemplate.

“What was the training about?” Tony asks.

Stevens swallows around a mouthful of pizza. “The – oh, it was for QA. You know, with the new floors being opened up, and all.”

“God, that’s tiring. Did they do the thing where they split you into little groups for ‘workshopping’ and ‘team interplay’?”

Stevens smiles and, okay, the view just improved by approx. 100%. “I can’t imagine you ever sitting in a training session.”

“I’ve been occasionally tricked into them,” Tony says. “Or bribed. One or the other.”

“Ms. Potts is a very clever lady.”

“Also, terrifying, yes? Fucking hardy, too, to have stuck with me this long.”

“I think she enjoys the challenge,” Stevens says thoughtfully.

“She certainly enjoys something,” Tony says warmly. “It’s probably lording over me, because goodness knows no one else can do it. I wonder how that happened.”

“You let her.”

“What?”

“She’s good and you trust her, so you let her.” Stevens jumps a little, as though realizing that he might’ve spoken out of turn. “Not that it’s—”

“No, you have a point, and I concede to it.” Tony raises the slice of pizza that he’s holding, for a toast that Stevens returns with his own slice. “To Ms. Potts.”

It seems too quickly that Tony’s stomach is filled to brim, and Stevens refuses to take a single slice more than Tony does. The conversation is kept light, allowing the atmosphere to drift towards easy and companionable, though (understandably) never fully relaxed. Tony cannot help wondering what Stevens wants – a raise, a good word with Rushman, some other building privileges – or if maybe he’s just carefully tending to a card that he might need to cash in later.

Tony has little time for people who are overly eager to please, but something about Stevens tempers that effect. Maybe it’s the lack of hungry grasping in how he speaks to Tony. He isn’t wheedling, isn’t trying to ingratiate. The shyness should be frustrating, but there is a sharp edge underneath it, and Tony wants… to poke.

“So here’s a thing,” Tony says. “You want to do me a favor?”

Stevens slows down the folding of the pizza boxes. “Is there something you need?”

“A get-out-of-jail card.” Tony’s toed off his shoes and lifted both legs along the long, curved couch. “Can you cover for me with Ms. Potts for the rest of the day? I am beat.”

“Not a problem,” Stevens says.

Tony grins. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“Well, it’s… Ms. Potts is an understanding person. She knows that you’re tired, so.”

Tony sees the opening. He could resist the temptation to grab said opening, but only if he were a better man. Since he isn’t, he says: “Twins and a hot blonde. If you heard my mentioning that earlier.”

“I…” Stevens’s paying very close attention to packing up the leftovers in a single box. “I think the whole office heard it.”

“S’why I’m having trouble walking. Bet you thought the twins were ladies.”

Stevens’s ears go pink. “I… wouldn’t assume that,” he says evenly.

“What do _you_ get up to in your off-time, Mr. Stevens?”

“I keep myself occupied.”

“Mm-hmm,” Tony hums. “That’s all I’m gonna get, I suppose.”

“I doubt it’s anything as exciting as your, um…” Stevens trails off.

Tony is a bad person, a bad boss, a bad human being. He shouldn’t be putting these kinds of mental images in his underlings’ heads, no matter that they seem perfectly capable of rolling with it because hey, Tony Stark is gonna Tony Stark, even if he seems to have left that old libido back in Afghanistan. After all, Pepper had to suffer years of not merely hearing it, but seeing it, too. (That last thought sobers Tony some, and it toughens his resolve to keep to the white lie that merely angers Pepper instead of worrying her.)

“Partying hard is a skill,” Tony says. He realizes just then that not only is he full, but he’s on the verge of a food coma. He grabs a cushion to shove under his head, and tilts back onto the couch until there is just smooth soft leather padding his body. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Sure, Mr. Stark.”

“Can you let yourself out?” Tony says. “Oh, and give my regards to QA for the excellent pizza.”

“Will do,” Stevens says, standing up with the empty boxes and plates in his hands. “Have a good rest.”

Thank goodness for JARVIS, for Tony zonks out even before Stevens reaches the elevator.


	3. Chapter 3

The weekend is just the break Tony needs. He doesn’t even touch the hellicarrier plans until Sunday night, when he’s back to being restless and needs something to keep him occupied through a quiet dinner overlooking a brightly-lit New York.

In the new week Pepper’s good mood is replenished, and Tony puts a decent effort into cultivating said good mood in preemptive view of SHIELD business potentially getting in the way again. (Which he hopes not, but SHIELD is SHIELD, so.) The SI revamping goes apace, R&D recruitment is way up, and there’s a bunch of new proposals in his inbox that Tony’s actually looking forward to poking at.

There’s Stevens, too.

Where Tony had been vaguely aware of the dude around the office before, he’s now… slightly more aware. He notes Stevens’s general demeanor, which is: always ready to hop to it, no matter the task and no matter who’s asking. He notes Stevens’s work station: a cubicle decorated with pictures of landscapes and animals, some of which are watercolors, which makes for a nifty contrast with Rushman’s neighboring minimalist cubicle. Tony also further notes Stevens’s fashion sense, which seems to be a rotation between plaid and polo underneath two equally boring beige blazers.

Tony’s curious about Stevens’s angle, but it becomes clear that it may be a while before the guy calls in the favor. Although Stevens is not in the office every day, the occasions when he _is_ around now include Stevens passing by Tony’s office to drop off coffee or snacks (bagels, doughnut holes and other small boxes from various bakeries, most of which Tony is surprisingly unfamiliar with) but never asking for anything more strenuous than a signature on Rushman’s paperwork or a reminder to check his inbox for Pepper’s latest.

He has a sweet smile. There’s no harm in just looking.

If anything, this is actually a positive. It gives Tony another compelling reason to come down to his office, even if only for the rush that is the little half-second it takes to glance over at Stevens’s workstation to confirm his presence. It takes a while to build up the odds of Stevens being in the office, which in this case stabilizes over a few weeks into 60 to 40%.

Tony brings this up, on one such late morning when he’s in his office catching up on memos and Stevens drops in after two crisp knocks to the door.

“Does Rushman send you out on errands?” Tony says.

Stevens looks up from where he’s placing churros and a frothy latte on Tony’s desk. “What’s that?”

“I mean, it’s not…” Tony busies himself pulling the box of churros towards himself and studying it carefully before picking one to try. “You’re her assistant, but you spend almost as much time away from her as not, it feels like. Not that I’m keeping a timesheet.”

“It’s a big building, and part of a bigger business on top of that,” Stevens says. “One of the perks of being a boss is that you can send other people to do the legwork for you.”

“True,” says Tony, who’s had Pepper for so long that he sometimes forgets how exceptional she is. “Ah, well.”

Stevens frowns a little. “Is there something you need?”

“What, no,” Tony says quickly. “I’m just making small talk.”

“Because I can—”

“No, no. It’s just…”

It’s just that Tony is curious, and there is no obvious route to indulge in that curiosity. _Do you live in the city? _he wants to ask. _Do you drive to work? What social media do you use? Who _are_ you?_ _Why haven’t you asked for anything from me yet?_

These aren’t appropriate questions. They’re not friends; they _can’t_ be friends. (Tony’s brain unhelpfully reminds him about Pepper and Happy, who also work for him and see what they’ve become?) But boundary blurring has gotten Tony into trouble more often than it’s paid off.

Especially, in this case, since Stevens isn’t his assistant and there’s no way to get him by himself for an extended period of time. The pizza incident was a one-off, and already risky in itself. Even as Tony thinks this, he acknowledges that he’s doing that thing where he’s getting unnecessarily fixated on someone (though it’s usually a some_thing_). In a battle between sense and impulse, which one will win? Traditionally, Tony would put money on impulse, but he has to be better about these things now.

“Actually, there is something,” Tony says.

Stevens perks up. “Sure, what is it?”

“I didn’t even tell you what it is yet.”

“I’m sure it won’t be difficult.”

“You’ve met me, right?”

“I think so, yes,” Stevens says.

“Hah!” Tony takes a nibble of a churro, and concedes Stevens to his winning streak on choice of human consumables. “Okay, so. How do you pick these?”

“Churros?”

“All of them. All the baked goods you’ve been trying to bribe me with.”

“I’m not trying to…” Stevens stops when he sees Tony’s smirk. A sheepish smile passes over Stevens’s own face, and Tony swallows the very improper urge to grab his phone and take a snapshot. “I don’t know. Carbs and sugar are important, of course.”

“Good for energy, yes. But are these what you _think_ I’ll like?”

Stevens starts a little, surprised. “Oh. Yes, I guess I do take that into consideration.”

“All right, that’s fine. But how about, you get me something you like. Just to change it up?”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Something you like.” Tony says this in what he thinks is a firm but friendly manner, and not really meriting the way Stevens stiffens up. It shouldn’t be a difficult request, but maybe it’s one of those things that nudges too close to being personal. Tony does tend to miss those, so he nods and says, “Okay, so scratch that.”

“No, Mr. Stark—” Stevens says quickly.

“You don’t want to, nothing wrong with that.” Tony smiles reassuringly, but Stevens still looks pinched. “But please just tell me you’ve been paying for these out of petty cash.”

“Uh…”

“Because if you _haven’t_ been, I’m going to be concerned enough to have to talk to Ms. Rushman.”

Stevens’s mouth falls open a little. “Please don’t.”

“Then you need to square it with Finance. Actually, do it with Happy, he knows how to handle this.”

“Oh.” Stevens nods, grateful for the option. “Okay, yes, I can do that.”

“Thank you, though.” Tony pops the churro between his teeth, letting it hang there like a cigarette. “My blood sugar thanks you, anyway.”

Stevens straightens up (he_ can_ straighten up, albeit for two seconds before slouching again) and flashes a pleased closed-mouth smile that gives approximately the same rush as winning a Robotics Olympiad.

After Stevens leaves the room, Tony gets up to adjust the projector, and in doing so passes by his open door. As he does, he sees Natalie Rushman look up at Stevens’s return to their neighboring cubicles, a perfectly-groomed eyebrow raised at him. Stevens doesn’t seem perturbed, though, and just sits at his desk.

+

A couple of days later when Stevens drops by Tony’s office, he brings with him two bagels and a packet of crackers.

“You don’t need to try the crackers,” Stevens says quickly, “they’re just—”

“Oh my god, is that Rudy Stevens food?” Tony kicks his wheeled chair away from the keyboard he’d been tapping at, and makes grabby motions at the packet. “Give it to me.”

“Well, see, they’re really _very _bland,” Stevens says, with that same breathless edge that Tony’s been thinking of as Stevens’s Marilyn Monroe voice, “but it’s because of that that I can eat a lot of them, especially when I’m working and don’t have time to think of what to eat. So I just, um, keep shoving them in my mouth on automatic.”

Tony successfully quashes his baser instincts and says nothing about other things that can be put into people’s mouths. Instead, he says, “Hey, relax. I’m not judging you by your food choices.”

“They’re okay with marmalade,” Stevens says. “Or peanut butter.”

“I got it, they’re very bland. You get into that headspace a lot?”

“Headspace?”

“Where you need to keep working and not think about food. Is that like a stress thing?”

“Oh, uh. Just my previous job,” Stevens says. “There were lots of consecutive hours, all-nighters. It’s better here, though.”

“I appreciate that segue,” Tony says. “I will try these, and if I don’t like them, you can take them back. No waste, no hard feelings. How’s that?”

“Oh yes, good.” Stevens clears his throat. “Though actually I’m also here to remind you about the meeting with the financers for the hydrocell spin-off. Ms. Potts said she sent a reminder?”

“Did she?” Tony shoves a bagel into his mouth for a quick bite ‘n swallow, but puts the rest into a drawer for later. “Thanks.”

Stevens clutches his hands in front of him. “She said to make sure that you go.”

“Yeah, I’m going,” Tony says.

“Right now. Personally.”

Tony stares unblinkingly up at Stevens, all the way through Tony’s silent biting and swallowing of another chunk of the bagel. Stevens meets the stare with the politest, most hopeful, most agreeable face, and does not falter. On most people, that face would come off as a sign of weakness or being a pushover. Not here, though. Stevens knows exactly what he’s doing, just as he knows that Tony knows he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s not the kind of challenge that Tony’s used to, but points for originality.

“All right,” Tony concedes with a sigh. He stands and grabs for his jacket, while Stevens hurriedly moves around the desk to help Tony put it on.

There’s a moment here, unexpected yet at the same time unsurprising. Stevens’s hands tug at the cloth near Tony’s shoulders to straighten the jacket, and it’s nothing, it’s just the man being helpful, but it sends a tingle up Tony’s spine. Tony swallows and tries to ignore it, but then Stevens’s hands come around Tony’s upper arms, flattening the sleeves into place.

Big hands, Tony thinks feverishly.

“Right,” Tony says, grabbing at the remains of the bagel for something to focus on. Stevens steps back, none the wiser and not at any fault whatsoever. “Where is it?”

“Downstairs,” Stevens says.

“Pepper told you to walk me down? Fine, let’s go.”

They leave the room together, neither really leading the way so they’re effectively shoulder-to-shoulder, through the desk and cubicles to the main elevator. Tony, always alert to his being on display, does notice a few heads turning (could be nothing, could be something) as well as the light tittering at a distant corner of the office floor as the elevator doors close around them.

Yeah. There’s that, too.

While Stevens presses the floor buttons, Tony finishes up the bagel and steals another quick look at the man’s very nice profile.

It’s not even that Stevens is doing anything bad per se. Snacks and coffee are just snacks and coffee. The actual issue is that he’s Rushman’s assistant, not Tony’s, and Tony’s actual ‘assistant’ Pepper hasn’t brought him coffee and snacks in _years_. There’s also the fact that Tony’s had Pepper in his life too long to not be intimately aware of the ways that the sharks can come a-circlin’, smelling what they think is blood in the water.

“So, hey,” Tony says. “Since we’re here. How’s the office been treating you?”

“It’s very nice,” Stevens says. “I’m learning a lot.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not a technical person, but it’s been fascinating to be involved in the oversight of the energy and transport projects. So many angles I’d never considered before, in how you – well, SI – streamlines to efficiency. It makes me appreciate everyday tech, for sure.”

“What about the office environment itself?” Tony asks. “The people?”

“It’s different from my previous job. But in a good way. It’s nice to meet different kinds of people.”

“No one giving you trouble?”

Stevens raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I’m a snitch?”

Tony laughs, thrown by the deftly-tossed curve ball in Stevens’s pitch-perfect delivery. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be asking _that_,” Tony says. “Rock and a hard place, eh?”

“No workplace is perfect. We make do.”

“But you have to know, right…” Tony speeds up, his eye on the moving numbers on the elevator display, “if anyone’s giving you trouble because of me; if anyone’s saying anything to you because of …”

“Your thing for hot blondes?” Stevens says.

“Holy shit,” Tony stares at him in amazement. “Smack an egg in my face.”

“It’s just coffee, Mr. Stark,” Stevens says, where the use of the surname startles Tony back into remembering who he is and where they are. That’s good, though, because Tony can forget about any imagined intimacy and instead focus on the earnestness of Stevens saying: “What you’re doing with Stark Industries is… it’s _amazing_. It’s brave and daring, and I’m very proud to be here. And you work so hard—”

“Some would disagree.”

“—that I just like to… I don’t know. Maybe make it a little less hard? If that’s okay?”

“It’s perfectly okay,” Tony hears himself say. He sounds gentle about it, too, like what the hell is wrong with him.

“I’m glad, then.” Stevens shrugs, easy and unperturbed. “People can say whatever they want.”

Stevens doesn’t follow Tony out of the elevator, but the effect of him lingers, like warm sunshine on his face after a whole day underground. It’s ridiculous. It’s nonsensical. Stevens just works for him and has some semi celebrity-worship admiration going on, and Tony’s had years – _decades _– of people saying and doing more to get his attention.

But if Tony goes into the meeting with a little spring in his step, then that’s just for everyone’s benefit though, isn’t it?

+

While the confusing but not unwelcome excitement with Stevens is going on up top, so is SHIELD business and the hellicarrier investigation going on down below.

Tony had assumed that he wasn’t going to find out anything about the investigation until long after the fact. But the next couple of times that Cap drops by for tech requests and intel decrypting, he shares updates: they’ve identified one of the dead hijackers and are following his trail, they managed to recover most of the downed hellicarrier from the ocean, and that Fury is being extra paranoid to the point that even Hill is searching for loopholes to not keep their key agents completely in the dark.

A few weeks after the crash, Tony has Happy fly him out to DC to check on the construction of the new hellicarriers. _This_ SHIELD trip is wholly above-board and Pepper-approved, thanks to Tony’s cross-his-heart vow to not get distracted by old friends and to actually answer the messages that she sends him.

Maria Hill greets Tony when he arrives at SHIELD HQ, and they have a back-and-forth for a while on a couple of outstanding matters. The Triskelion may be a concrete island of severe grey lines, but it’s not completely unattractive. Its lower levels are much more interesting – because of course SHIELD’S vast shipyard is underground, buried between and under the waters of the Potomac.

Tony is, of course, not allowed to wander the shipyard by himself. That would be irresponsible, because it’s something like twenty football fields of high-tech confidentiality. Tony itches, though. He also pauses upon stepping into the shipyard proper, just to stand there and take in the view of everything the artificial light touches.

“I’m inviting myself to your first test flight,” Tony says. “Just FYI.”

Hill hums with pleasure. “We’ll see if we can pencil you in.”

Tony perks up when he sees a familiar figure of red, white and blue. As Cap approaches, Tony says by way of greeting: “Oh hey, my turn to crash your workplace. What’ve you got for me?”

“Meet ‘n greet,” Cap says.

“Don’t let him get distracted by the nuts and bolts,” Hill says. “Our engineers don’t need another pair of eyes hovering over their shoulders.”

“But then what’s the point of you having me?” Tony asks. When Hill starts walking away, he calls out to her back, “I’m very expensive!”

“Yes, I’ve heard about your going rates,” Cap says wryly.

“Shh.” Tony taps a finger to his lips. “Some things should stay a mystery.”

“Like your repulsor tech?”

“Now that, I’m glad to give to my country.” Tony falls into step beside Cap as the man marches onward, leading into a tour of the sections that Tony has sort-of-but-not-really access to, i.e. the three hellicarriers in varying levels of construction.

Tony’s only ever seen these beauties rendered in computer drawings. He doesn’t get a tear in his eye at the sight of the real things, but he does bounce a little on his feet as Cap explains things he mostly already knows but is fun to hear someone else talk about.

“Who’s naming them?” Tony asks.

“I assumed Fury would,” Cap says. “But he hasn’t so far, so who knows. They’re just H-11, H-12, and H-13 at the moment.”

“The height of creativity.” Tony follows Cap to stand underneath the frame where a massive repulsor will soon be installed. The physics checks out, but damn if it doesn’t look impossible that this behemoth will ever be able to fly under its own power.

“Repulsor tech,” Cap says, “which in theory means better stability in the ascent and descent, plus more hours in sub-orbital.”

“Creep out the Martians if you’re game for it,” Tony says. “And _not_ based on Howard’s prototype, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That is not what I was thinking.”

“Good.” Tony holds his hands up to eyeball the thing’s weight distribution in effect. “If you had a better power source, you could enlarge the engines. But that fights against the pressure control and it’s… ugh.”

“How’d you compensate with the Jericho?”

Tony jolts, and lowers his hands to squint at Cap. “How the hell did you make that connection?”

Cap lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I read the reports. Your design on the combustion chambers? You’ve scaled it up for the hellicarriers.”

“You read the reports,” Tony echoes. “You’re that much of a workaholic?”

“I have been told that it’s a problem.”

“Can’t relate.” Tony gasps when Cap laughs – actually _laughs._ Like a regular person and everything. “Well, excuse me.”

“My apologies. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

“You’re wearing the legacy hat of an icon of the free world, and I’m wearing the hat of free trade,” Tony says. “Let’s not butt heads on what ‘workaholic’ means, yeah?”

“Stark. I know your _actual_ going rate. So you can quit it.”

“Wow, rude,” Tony says, even though the metal grating beneath his feet tips a little. “I told Fury not to make a big deal out of it.”

“Falcon knows, so I know.”

“Oh, right.” That makes sense. “So you’ve been to Gulmira?”

“For the supply drops you asked for, yes.” Cap shifts his shoulders, an oddly abortive moment down his arms, as though he meant to do something with his hands but changed his mind. “Yinsen’s busy with his relief work, but I’ve spoken to him a few times. You’ve never tried to visit him since…?”

“God, no.” Tony pauses, clearing his throat. It shouldn’t be this easy to talk to Cap about this, should it? Even the other Cap never asked too much about Tony’s insistence that SHIELD help Yinsen with whatever he and his people needed. The man was also a victim of the Ten Rings, and he helped Tony survive those shared weeks of captivity. Tony’s reasons for calling this in for payment (among a couple of other causes that SHIELD has sway in) were obvious, weren’t they?

“It’d just be awkward,” Tony finishes. “He literally lives in a war zone and I’m… well. I mean – I know I’m doing my part, I don’t need you to pat me on the back and go ‘there, there’ as if the actual billionaire in the room needs a pep talk or whatever.”

“But he’s your friend, isn’t he?” Cap says.

“We just had a shared experience.” Tony goes for flippant, but Cap makes an excruciating sound of polite doubt.

Tony wants to change the subject, and has about half a dozen subjects he can change to. But it seems disrespectful to do that to Yinsen – and to himself, in some way he can’t fully grasp – when Cap already knows more than what he’s said about what went down, even if those details were learned through reports.

There’s also the fact that Tony hasn’t spoken about that captivity experience to anyone. Not Rhodey nor Pepper nor Happy, and definitely not Fury, Hill or Falcon. Each person in that aforementioned (short) list knows _some_ about what happened – with Rhodey at the top – but they’ve all taken Tony’s lead in letting those nebulous couple of weeks stay in the unknowable past, and only to be acknowledged in how it’s slightly shifted Tony in ways that they should perhaps forgive and indulge.

Cap, though. They have a decent working relationship, which Tony’s not unaware has been tightened in the aftermath of a literal life-saving dive. Cap’s also a professional, respectful of the boundaries Tony’s placed for the sake of the job, plus he’s a military man that’s compassionate and irritable and fond of subtle rule-breaking. Most importantly, he’s someone Tony doesn’t have to see day-to-day or, worse yet, in social settings, where the rules of interaction are different.

“The Ten Rings, they asked me to make them more of the Jericho, so I opened them up, rattled around, got some ideas…” Tony tips his head back and squints up at the immense hellicarrier hull that is practically the entirety of their visible vista. “Yinsen was there rattling with me. Made me see my own tech in a new way. Never actually started building anything for them, though, so I got a little restless once you guys got me out. Good for SHIELD, though, right?”

“You weren’t going to build the missiles for the Rings,” Cap says simply.

“Eh.” Tony shrugs. “But Yinsen helped me think about other things, too. Lot of hours in that cave, pondering how we land on the priorities we have, and what we leave behind when we go. Some things I should have realized sooner, but probably didn’t want to. I mean, I’m smart, but I’m also _really_ stupid.”

“The ‘when’ doesn’t matter,” Cap says, his voice so self-assured that it commands the listener to believe the words as true. “People can live their whole lives and never realize anything.”

“Both of us figured we’d die there.” Tony holds Cap’s steady blue gaze, which has to be part of his arsenal to get people to keep talking long after they should’ve stopped. “Well, yeah, I expected to bite it, I didn’t think it was _inevitable_. I could still find a way out, or get rescued, or something else. But Yinsen was… I’m pretty sure he wanted to die there.”

“Why do you think that?”

“He mentioned how he was looking forward to seeing his family again. So I was, you know, _happy_ when other Cap came in for the rescue and we got him out, too. Then I found out that, nope, his whole family was long gone.”

Cap’s mouth is pinched, in the way that Tony’s taken to associating with a scowl hidden underneath the helmet. “You have complicated feelings because he lived, when he wanted to be reunited with his family.”

“Yeah.” Tony bounces on his feet, twitchy at the admission. “I’m glad he didn’t die out there, but… yeah.”

“Do you believe that he resents you for it?”

“It’s fine if he does.”

“From what little I’ve seen of him, he’s glad to be able to keep working, and to help his people – his village and many others. It _is_ possible that a part of him is frustrated at surviving, but that isn’t on _you_.”

“I know, textbook narcissism, everything’s about me.” Tony’s fidgeting like a goddamned freshman making their first public talk, with his hands all over the place – touching his beard, scratching the back of neck, in and out of his pockets. He wants to tell Cap rest of it, too: that Yinsen saved his life more than Tony saved his, and Tony will forever be reminded of that by the shrapnel lodged in his heart.

But he leaves that out. Maybe out of fear of how mentioning it will bring Cap’s concern down on his head tenfold. Or maybe because Tony can still feel Stane’s fingers on his chest, Stane’s breath on his face, and he doesn’t like acknowledging the arc reactor’s presence more than the absolute minimum.

“I still think you should consider seeing him,” Cap says. “Not now, or any time soon, but one day. Just sit on that.”

“Sure,” Tony says, which isn’t a promise at all. Maybe if Tony finally does something worth telling, then he’d have the guts to see Yinsen again and shake his hand, and Yinsen would know that none of it was a waste. But that’s Tony’s pride talking, too, isn’t it? Know a guy for a couple of weeks and already Tony’s fear of disappointing him has overridden common courtesy.

Cap takes pity on Tony and changes the subject. “Do you want to go inside? We can see what they’ve installed so far.”

“Sounds good. Lead the way.”

A climb into the hull and a few comments later, the tension in the air (or just in Tony’s head) bleeds away. In its stead is embarrassment and relief: the former at having blurted all of that out to someone he may have a decent rapport with but doesn’t actually _know_, and the latter at Cap’s easy acceptance of all of it, as if the tangled knots in Tony’s head are… okay.

It does occur to Tony that Cap could tell people what he’s just learned. It’s not important intel (Tony knows the difference between ‘important’ and ‘sensitive’) so technically there’s nothing dangerous about Cap’s telling Falcon, Hill, or Fury. It might even be sensible of him to do so, what with Tony being a SHIELD asset now.

Tony doesn’t think Cap will, though. He has no evidence for this beyond a gut feeling – he doesn’t know the fuller extent of Cap’s relationship with his boss and colleagues, after all – but it’s a pretty strong gut feeling.

A part of Tony feels he should be mortified at himself for thinking this way. _Gut feeling_, really? After Stane, he should know better. But he doesn’t want to be a cynical bastard either, because Fury’s got that more than covered.

After an hour or so the tour winds down, and Tony’s poked as far as he’s allowed to poke in the shipyard. Cap returns Tony to Hill’s care, though for a second Tony contemplates asking Cap if he wants to grab a coffee or something in the SHIELD mess (and perhaps lure another personal story out of Cap), but that would be weird. Cap’s a busy man. People to save, bad guys to punch.

This Cap’s already gone above and beyond for Tony compared to original Cap, so it would be bad form to ask for more, as if they’re friends or some crap like that. Because that’s definitely not what’s going on. For sure.

+

SHIELD work can be frustrating (mainly due to the controlled communication) but some days Tony much prefers it to the SI work. Not _all_ of the SI work, of course – ten floors of R&D looking into potentially planet-wide sustainable solutions in as many fields as there are floors are the stuff of dreams – but the _other_ kind of grease work. The golf games, the thousand-dollar-plate dinners, the swarm of flashing cameras.

Pepper doesn’t enjoy it any more than Tony does, but her goals keep her centered in ways that Tony’s never quite able to master. In the old days, Tony took pleasure from the incidentals of such outings – the food, the drink, and especially the fawning attention – but now all he can think about are the other things he could be using his time for, and it’s hard.

It’s especially hard when he goes for a working lunch at an okay restaurant with the aim of getting an in with a high-level contractor, and he’s got to deal with other parts of the industry scene he’d also have rather left behind.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tony mutters through the rictus of a grin, his head angled towards Pepper so that only she can hear him. Stevens is busy talking to the concierge about their table, which gives Tony the opening to privately bitch to Pepper: “I want to change venue.”

“Tony,” Pepper says. “We can’t change venue when Brendler’s team is on the way.”

“But Hammer is here.”

“Yes, I see him. Coincidences happen. More often now, admittedly, but you’re the one who wanted to move to New York.”

“Really? You’re throwing that back in my face?” Tony props up a smile when Stevens signals that they’ve got the table at the back that Pepper wanted. It’s just unfair that the petty delight Tony might’ve had from having Stevens here instead of Rushman is immediately cancelled out by bad luck. (Stevens is wearing a different suit today, too! Black, which makes for a pleasing contrast with his skin, though the cut is still fucking atrocious, and his hair is still in the overly neat combover.)

“Coincidence,” Tony mutters darkly. “Or my daily horoscope’s finally kicking in. Beware old faces coming back to take a dump on everything you’ve worked for.”

They’re barely seated when Tony sees, at the corner of his eye, Justin Hammer rising from his table. Tony suppresses a sigh, Pepper gives him an overly dramatic side-eye, while Stevens – missing both of the previous – politely asks for water and menus from their waiter.

Hammer arrives at their table with all the rattling loudness of a garbage truck (no, that’s unfair, garbage trucks are actually important). “Anthony!” he says. “What coicky-dink seeing you here. Thought you’d buried yourself away from the rest of us.”

“Only from you, Justin,” Tony says. God, and now Stevens is going to see Tony be a full-on dick. Tony stands up quickly. “Let me get you a drink.”

“Tony—” Pepper says.

“Two minutes!” Tony hurries Hammer along to the open bar, and signals the bartender. “Scotch on the rocks for me, and whatever my friend wants.”

“Ah, ‘friend’,” Hammer says. “A dirty martini, thank you. Let me cover this one.”

“Nope.”

“I insist.”

“_Nope_.” Tony leans against the bar, which gives him a decent view of the room and especially Hammer’s table. “Is that Christine Everhart?”

“Oh, yes,” Hammer says, slanting a finger through his hairline in what is possibly meant to be a suave move. “She’s doing a feature about our work with the Defense—”

“You figured out OSHA regulations yet? How’s that going?”

“Better than you and…” Hammer peers over at Tony’s table, where Pepper’s shaking hands with their guests. “Brendler? Civil engineering, really? What’ve you got on the table for him, _solar panels_?”

“Did you really leave a beautiful woman to sit by herself and wait for you?”

“It’s been said that you do far worse to the ladies.” Hammer isn’t even clever enough to sound oily, which is the real insult. “Come on, Anthony, what are you really up to? I know you. The no-weapons thing is at most some cheap resolution made during a near-death experience to make you feel better ‘cause you survived, that’s all. Though I suppose I should thank you for the extra business.”

“Even if any of that were true, at least I don’t go around wearing an orange tie with a red belt.” When Hammer looks down at himself, Tony says, “Made you look.”

“You kidder!” Hammer’s eye shifts to a point just behind Tony. “Your latest squeeze? You sure can pick ‘em.”

Tony tips his head to the side, acknowledging that Stevens has shuffled up to the bar to fetch him.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Stevens says, his voice as cool as the glass Tony’s drumming a thumb against. “We’re on the clock.”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Tony leaves before Hammer can get the last word in. As they cross the floor, Tony says quietly: “Thanks. I was this close to dumping my drink on his head.”

“You left that drink at the bar, though,” Stevens says.

“Worth it. At least I kept his sterling referral away from Pep and Brendler.”

“His bullshit,” Stevens says.

“What?” Tony says.

“You kept his _bullshit_ away from the others,” Stevens says. “Because that’s the only thing that was coming out of Hammer’s mouth. ‘Cheap resolution’ – really.”

Tony looks up at Stevens, thrown by the sudden steel in his voice. “It’s not a big deal,” Tony says. “It’s not like he’s all that wrong.”

Stevens opens his mouth to say something else, but they’re a few feet from the table now, which necessitates Tony’s switching on for Pepper’s guests with a smile.

“Hey, thanks for coming!” Tony says, hand out on offer. “You know me, can’t resist making an entrance.”

Tony tries to focus. It’s Pepper’s scene, and he’s here to prove that she has his full backing; her word is his word, and any second-guessing won’t even deign a pithy joke. He doesn’t need to worry about Hammer, either, since he’s been placated like a flu virus given its shot. There’s just the target – Pepper their quarterback, Tony the linebacker, and Stevens the attractive but subtle cheerleader.

Some ways into the meal, the chatter in the restaurant rises and takes on a distinctly confused and concerned edge.

“What is that?” Hammer’s voice travels. “Is that – is that happening in the city?”

Pepper tries to control the discussion but Brendler and his team are turning in their seats, trying to catch a glimpse of the TV screen above the bar. Others in the restaurant are looking, too. Tony flicks open a phone and pulls up a live feed, JARVIS knowing exactly what he’s looking for.

The news is showing live bird’s eye footage of a black SUV being chased by a handful of smaller, similarly dark cars. That can’t possibly be in the city, except that it is. The chase has apparently gone over sidewalks and through parks and even through a police barricade.

Tony leans in. The streets are familiar. “JARVIS, map it.” On his phone screen, JARVIS overlays a map of the city with the route of the chase.

Someone at the next table seems to have the same realization, saying, “Isn’t that…?”

Tony’s on his feet, and rushes towards the restaurant’s front windows just as one of the waiters starts flail-running away. Tnoy claps his hands once – the sound resonating absurdly loud in the cup of his hands – and pitches his voice up: “Everyone needs to move back!” He mimes a pushing motion in the air. “Everyone needs to move away from the windows! Right now! Chop chop!” Other warnings join his, with various bystanders and even Stevens joining him to help people seated near the window get up and away from the glass.

The screech of tires becomes audible. There are gunshots, and people screaming outside.

Once the front is cleared Tony starts to move towards the wall himself, but a glance to the side startles him into almost tripping on his feet.

Stevens is the lone person left standing at the front here with Tony, but _unlike _Tony, he has turned around and is staring out the windows at the approaching chase, like some goddamned deer in headlights. Tony can literally _see_ the cars coming down the street over Steven’s shoulder, with pedestrians running out of the way.

Tony changes direction without thinking. He hasn’t tackled anyone since – okay, Rhodey, which was quite recently, actually, but does it really count when Rhodey lets him do it? Anyway, Tony launches himself at Stevens, intending to use the shared momentum to shove both of them out of the way, except the timing’s fucked by a SUV crashing through the front of the restaurant.

They drop and roll. Although they’re not run over by the SUV, it feels like a near fucking thing. (An illusion, as Tony will find out from the CCTV footage later, but still.) A table is sent flying. Glass falls over them like hail. Tony smells gas, smoke and burning rubber – echoes left behind while the vehicle itself leaves as quickly as it arrived.

The cars chasing the SUV are at least considerate enough to stay outside, and not smash their way through the building.

Then there’s the tail end of the chase, almost like an afterthought, or perhaps a late addition. It’s a motorcycle, the rumble of its engine so spine-prickling familiar that Tony hauls himself off Stevens and onto his knees, peering over the accidental barricade of fallen chairs just as Cap roars past on his bike, the shield strapped to his back.

_Cap_. This must be SHIELD business, but in the city. Tony has no doubt SHIELD gets up to a lot of shit right here in New York, but there’s never been action in broad daylight, _ever_. Tony’s body buzzes with adrenaline and the need find out what the fuck is going on, but he tamps it down. He’s a CEO right now, not a consultant. Besides, if Cap is on it then it’ll be fine. Whatever it is. Tony can find out the details later.

Tony looks back at Stevens, who’s still sprawled on the ground, eyes wide as he stares at Tony.

“You okay?” Tony says.

“Yeah.” Stevens nods, and there’s a weird second where his face seems to twist – embarrassment, anger, self-recrimination? – but then it’s gone. “You?”

“Yep,” Tony says. “You’re the one who landed on the floor. How’s your back?”

“It’s fine,” Stevens says.

Once the elongated seconds of peril fade away, the restaurant picks itself up. Chatter slowly trickles back in, the voices around them now thick with relief and panicky laughter. A couple of people have even managed to get their phones out to document the ruckus and one of them, who’s squinting at what his phone managed to capture, says, “Was that Captain America?”

“It is indeed, fellow citizen,” Hammer says loudly. “He’s a close friend of mine.”

“Motherfucker,” Tony mutters under his breath, just as someone else protests that it can’t be Captain America because he’s not black. While that debate ensues in the background, Tony rises onto his feet and holds a hand out, pulling Stevens up to join him.

“Geez,” Stevens says. “What was that?”

“The news cycle for the next 24 hours,” Tony says. “If we’re lucky.”

Pepper comes running up to them, flustered and fearful. “Oh god! Tony, Rudy, are you all right?”

“Yeah, peachy.” Tony shakes his jacket, sending as much glass to the ground as possible. “How’s the party?”

“I think we might need to rain check on this one,” Pepper says.

“Nonsense. Stevens.” When Tony doesn’t get an immediate answer, he realizes that Stevens is yet again distracted, and is this time staring at where the front doors are hanging by their hinges. Shell-shocked, no doubt. Tony softens his voice: “Stevens?”

Stevens’s whole body jerks. “Yeah? Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“I need you to do me a favor.” Tony tries to make his voice soothing, though it’s not exactly something he has a lot of practice with. Stevens’s eyes quickly clear, though, and focus on Tony promisingly. “Is that okay with you?”

“Of course, yes,” Stevens says. “What do you need?”

“I need you to get Pepper, Brendler and the others to the Tower,” Tony says. “Call Happy, call the office. Arrange for comfort drinks, food, whatever else to help settle the nerves.”

“Are you staying here?” Stevens asks, alarmed. “I don’t think that’s—”

“I have to settle some things.” Tony exchanges a quick look with Pepper, who catches the SHIELD implications with a small nod. “Might as well give the police a statement while I’m at it. Finish the deal, okay? You can do it.”

Stevens seems raring to argue, but Pepper pulls him along. Tony watches them go – okay, the dismay in Stevens’s downward-turned mouth is kind of nice – and then pulls his phone back out to tap quick instructions to JARVIS.

+

Technically, SHIELD doesn’t need to tell him anything. Tony doesn’t even expect them to tell him anything substantial or juicy. But… how about just a little bit juicy? Diet juicy? Tony’s of the opinion that he’s done pretty damn good work for them, and more than what was agreed upon, so some informal quid pro quo in terms of agency gossip would’ve been nice.

Alas, even after a few hours of getting through the police statements, interviews, photos and a very long phone call with Rhodey about things Tony is and isn’t allowed to do, Tony’s SHIELD-related inbox remains empty.

He’d even sent a message to Cap, which isn’t something he usually does. (Just a jocular comment on how Cap’s all over the news, followed by tasteful and not-too-eager question about what’s up and if there’s anything he can help with.) Tony’s only ever sent messages to the guy twice, both relating to Tony’s completion of gear Cap wanted. Tony’s never asked _for_ anything before, and it’s kinda chafing that there’s no reply.

Well, it’s chafing _at first_. By the time Tony makes it back to the Tower, the lack of reply is veering towards worrying.

It’s evening when Tony enters the penthouse, tired and grimy, yet thrumming with unspent energy. There’s a bunch of things he can work on to address with that last one, which feels more urgent than having a shower.

“Anything from Pep?” Tony asks.

“_No, sir_,” JARVIS says. “_From the Tower logs, she finished negotiations with Mr. Brendler hours ago, and has left for the day. Mr. Stevens is still in the office, however._”

Tony, who’s chugging a sports drink from his fridge, pulls the bottle away from his lips. “Stevens? Why?”

“_He’s clearing his things now, but it is my opinion that he was waiting for you to make it back to the Tower safely, sir_.”

“How on earth did you get to that opinion?”

“_He’s been sitting with his laptop at one of the discussions areas by the window. From that spot he can see the reflected glow of when the penthouse lights come on._”

“Huh,” Tony says. “You scare me sometimes, J.”

“_My pleasure, sir._”

Tony drums his fingers on the countertop. A bad idea, a good idea? Stevens might still be shaken, so it could be worthwhile to check in with him. There could also be amusement in finding out if JARVIS’s conclusion is correct, which it might not be.

“JARVIS,” he says. “Key the elevator to Stevens, and send him a message, that he can come up if he wants. But don’t be creepy about it.”

“_I will do my best, sir._”

Tony’s tossed his suit jacket aside for dry-cleaning, leaving him in the silk shirt and pants that have seen better days by this point. It does occur to him that he might want to throw something nice on for Stevens’s sake, but that doesn’t seem right. Any effort could be seen as suggestive, or too much a request for some kind of reciprocation.

So instead of giving in to the impulse to prettify himself, Tony makes some coffee as he waits.

Stevens shows up still in the lunch suit, though the tie is gone. When he steps into the penthouse, all the tightness in his face just goddamned_ dissipates _when he sees Tony, and that… does something to him. It’s stupid, he knows.

“Coffee?” Tony says.

“Oh,” Stevens says. “Don’t mind if I do? I mean, if you’re going to…”

“Relax, get over here.” Stevens does as he’s told, and Tony pours him a generous amount from the carafe. “Recap for me. How’d the talks with Brendler go?”

They go the sunken couch, a few feet between them while Stevens leads into a dutiful executive summary. Tony half-listens at Pepper’s working it beautifully, and how she was a gracious host with an eye on the prize, and used the unexpected events of the day into a bonding moment for SI’s advantage. It’s all very interesting, but Tony’s attention is more on Stevens himself, and trying to quantify his mannerisms, body language, general energy.

“But what about you?” Stevens says, after his wind-up. “Are you okay?”

“About what? Free publicity on the news? You catch me on CNN?”

For a second Stevens’s face drops into the pinch of exasperation, which is far more familiar coming from Pepper or Rhodey, and is thus delightful in its open frustration. But the change comes quickly, just as Tony expected, with Stevens quickly smoothing his face over into the deferential coolness that’s more Rushman’s style. Tony wonders: what would it take to poke right through the part of Stevens that is determined to be a good SI employee? Is Tony a bad human being for even thinking this?

“It was pretty scary,” Stevens says mildly.

“Says the guy who stood there gawking.” Tony waves it off when Stevens immediately flushes. “Sorry, no, that’s not a callout. It happens, the lizardbrain does what it wants under stress.”

“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” Stevens says.

Hardly a rescue, but Tony covers his automatic (and impolite) eye-roll by finishing his coffee. “If you’d had your phone out, you could’ve gotten the best Captain America snaps in the house.”

“Oh,” Stevens says. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re not one of those Cap conspiracy theorists?”

“No, not really my thing. I mean, I respect what he does, but it’s not…” Stevens shrugs, not really interested.

It’s a pity, because if Stevens were a Cap chaser Tony could’ve teased him a little with his inside scoop. Oh well. “So, will you be coming in to work tomorrow?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of today’s excitement? Rushman would understand.”

“Are _you_ taking tomorrow off?”

“I take time off whenever I like,” Tony reminds him airily. “How about, you take tomorrow off, and when you come back, I’ll give you a project that will be wholly yours to lead.”

Stevens sits up, surprised. “Oh?”

“Repair work on the whole stretch that got damaged by that car chase today. It’s going to be a big ol’ gnarly knot of egos and red tape – private property, public property, utilities – so I’m going to need someone who has the fortitude to wade through all of those details, talk to a _lot _of people, and put a budget together.”

“Um. Press?”

“Geez, no, what the hell. I want it done quietly, efficiently and – in cases where you think the SI name won’t get your foot in the door at all – anonymously. You up for that?”

Tony waits for an answer, but it doesn’t immediately come. Instead Stevens is just looking at him, almost glowing with what seems to be quiet pleasure, which has Tony wanting to hold his hands out and warm himself on the embers.

“Yes,” Stevens says at last. “I believe I am. I mean, I _am_.”

“Good.” Tony holds a hand out. “Here’s to you, Stevens. I’ll see you back in the office on Thursday.”

Stevens’s small smile is a sight of wonder. He brings a hand up to accept Tony’s handshake, his elbow posture so bad that the ghost of Howard Stark grumbles disapproval in Tony’s ear. But a _zing_ travels up Tony’s arm at the touch, but that’s obviously only true in Tony’s fevered brain. Stevens’s hands are calloused. Not as rough as Tony’s own, but a working man’s hands. Interesting details, as all details of Mr. Rudy Stevens are interesting.

Like Stevens’s eyes, which are dark and steady as they hold Tony’s. Stevens is usually so twitchy and nervous, so this makes for a breathtaking change of pace, which honest-to-goodness sends a frisson up Tony’s spine. This is how Stevens can be when he’s not anxious around Tony – still as a mountain and just as nice to look at.

The handshake has been going on a while. It’s difficult to say who lets go first, but neither seems to notice or care about the awkwardness that should be there but isn’t. Stevens is still looking at him, head tilted slightly as though Tony is a subject of study, and he likes what he sees.

“So you, um.” Tony isn’t fumbling, because he is a smooth guy. “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Oh?” Stevens starts. “Oh, damn. Sorry, yes, I should go.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Tony says with a laugh, because he’s not some loser who’ll backtrack into pointing out that that was an invitation for Stevens to join him. He stands up and makes a grab for the empty coffee mug in Stevens’s hands, but the guy’s surprisingly fast. Stevens stands to join him in walking over to the kitchenette.

“What’ll you do on your day off?” Tony asks. “Sleep?”

“Don’t need that much sleep, to be honest,” Stevens says, which briefly sends an x-rated mental image into Tony’s head.

“Then what does Rudy Stevens do for fun?”

“Not much.” Stevens shrugs as he puts his mug into the sink besides Tony’s. “Reading, I guess.”

“Hiking?” When Stevens gives him a questioning look, Tony adds, “The landscapes at your desk. Some stunners there.”

“Oh!” Stevens’s neck goes pink. “Oh, thank you.”

“Oh my god. Did you paint those yourself?”

“I mean, it’s just a hobby—”

“You did!” If Tony were less suave he’d crow right about now. This is an actual fact about Stevens – he has a hobby, a _skill _– and so very precious for the difficulty of its excavation. “That is very cool. And I am the expert on what is cool. You agree, yes?”

There’s a different smile on Stevens now – this one warmer, almost fond. Tony’s toes are fucking curling in his shoes like he’s a fucking debutante who’s finally been picked for a dance. Tony’s pretty sure this isn’t flirting, because even with his fast-and-loose attitude with boundaries he _does _know what actual flirting is. Stevens is just being friendly. Right? Right.

“I don’t know about that,” Stevens says. “But I’ll take the kind word for what it is.”

“All right, if you want to play it that way.” Tony is loathe to wind the evening down but needs must, and he walks Stevens to the elevator.

That could’ve been it. Tony could’ve seen Stevens off and go to bed that night thinking happy but vague thoughts about unattainable people who are mysteries wrapped in enigmas.

But what _does_ happen is that Stevens says, “Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Stark.”

Tony responds with a laugh. “Can I _really_ never get you to call me Tony?”

A pause, following which Stevens says: “Tony.”

Tony’s breath shouldn’t catch, because it’s just his name, and he’s had it for over four decades. But shock still bounces like a pinball through Tony’s body, sending all other thoughts clattering away and out of reach. There’s only the liquid echo of Steven’s voice – _Tony_ – sloshing in his ears.

Was Stevens’s voice deeper for a moment there? Or was that just Tony’s imagination?

Tony’s feeling a little light-headed, as though he’s been drinking. It doesn’t seem right that a single word, a mere two syllables, should have his skin drawn taut like he could splinter off in a million directions at once. What is wrong with him? Is it his long-lost libido back for a surprise?

It isn’t even only about his attractiveness. Well, it _is_, but it’s also those still waters that is Lake Stevens, a lure to part of Tony’s psyche that can’t resist reaching out, touching, sending rude ripples skimming across said surface, if only to find out what happens next.

This is chemistry, elusive and unquantifiable.

Tony isn’t the only one feeling this. He knows this because when he looks over, Stevens very quickly looks away to stare at the elevator. Stevens’s chest is heaving slow and massive, his breath seemingly too thick for his lungs (Tony recognizes the sensation). He must be aware of the effect he has on Tony. He doesn’t seem displeased by it. Stevens’s eyes drift to Tony’s mouth for a quick, furtive glance, as though he means to steal a look and no more.

This can’t be anything, or go anywhere. Tony remembers how once upon a time that wouldn’t have mattered – fun is fun for its own sake – but hell if he can recall how to tap back into that thinking right now.

The fact is, Tony hasn’t wanted to kiss anyone in what feels like an eon (okay, only almost a year, since the arc reactor got put in, but whatever) and now that the urge is back, it feels hotter, fiercer, and more immediately pressing than it’s ever been, and Tony no longer has a counterbalance to stay the impulse.

Tony turns towards Stevens – noting the sudden widening of Steven’s eyes – and tips his body weight forward onto the balls of his feet. The angle’s right to find Stevens’s mouth, but Tony just hovers there for a second, not really kissing, not really pressing. It could be a needle-scratch moment, but then Stevens exhales against Tony’s lips, his breath warm and shaky, and tips forward.

Stevens’s lips part hotly against Tony’s, and that’s as loud a _yes_ as Tony could’ve dreamed.

Tony surges up, his hands framing Stevens’s face, and presses in. A wordless sound of satisfaction rumbles at the back of his throat, though it’s a poor expression of the full want he feels as he bodily launches himself forward. He kisses and is thrilled when he finds himself being kissed in return – _really _kissed – because holy shit, Stevens. _Hello_.

Stevens’s fingers dig tight into the muscles of Tony’s sides to hold him in place, which is a damn good thing considering how hard he’s going for it. He has surprisingly plush lips, which he uses to plunder Tony’s mouth, the sheer delightful audacity of it as shocking as Stevens’s use of Tony’s first name.

Tony gasps, kisses back, follows his mouth, and effectively mashes his face against Stevens’s until his facial hair catches at Stevens’s lips – not that the guy minds. Stevens’s tongue also sweeps in, dipping into the cavern of Tony’s mouth in a spine-tingling suggestion of other activities, which Tony responds to with lewd suction of said tongue to bring Stevens closer.

It’s like some fevered hot librarian fantasy made real: a shy man is proven to be not that shy after all, and is in fact capable of kissing Tony breathless and dizzy. It’s messy and sloppy and wonderful, with Stevens’s chest pressed against his, Stevens’s fingers digging tight into the muscles of Tony’s sides.

A teeny tiny voice in Tony’s head reminds him that this can’t go anywhere but… that’s okay, Stevens is a smart guy, he knows Tony’s reputation and is sharp enough to recognize this to be a fun interlude and not anything more. Tony’s also banking on Stevens’s being a _nice_ guy, because a nice guy would be kind enough to let Tony sit on his dick for a little while, maybe.

Tony’s hands have a journey of their own, moving down Stevens’s face to his neck, then to his shoulders and upper arms and – whoa. That’s a really solid bicep. Stevens is _ripped_, holy shit.

Tony pauses, distracted, because he’s only human. His surprise seems to distract Stevens as well, because the guy pulls back with a most unfriendly jerk of the head, their lips smacking faintly as they’re parted.

“Whoa, hey,” Tony says.

“Sorry,” Stevens breathes.

“It’s okay, it’ just—”

“No, I’m sorry, I…” Stevens licks his lips, and Tony realizes that the hands that had been clinging to his sides are gone. “Mr. Stark, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Oh.” Okay, Tony can deal with whiplash. His skin tingles and he’s half-hard, but that’s not relevant. Tony focuses on Stevens’s awkward clasping of hands in front of him, guilt and sheepishness radiating off him. Tony waves off the poor guy’s worry. “Good call, actually. Lost my head for a second there.”

“Oh god, no, you don’t need to—” Stevens shakes his head frantically.

“I’m the one who kissed you,” Tony says. “I’m very sorry about that. I mean, I know I’m supposed to know better, Pepper’s made me go for seminars and everything, but I misread things sometimes—”

“God, no, I – I _want_ to but—”

“—and you know what they say about old habits—”

“—but it’s, it’s not right, I’m not who you think I am.”

“—dying hard and all…” Tony trails off as that last bit sinks in. “What’s that?”

The blood seems to have drained from Stevens’s face. He’s pale and his mouth is open on nothing – as though he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, or at all.

Tony feels cold. Almost as cold as Stevens looks, really. It’s now Tony’s turn to take a step back, away from Stevens and the confusing pull of him. His mouth feels bone-dry, but Tony forces himself to say what he needs to: “How much do you want?”

Stevens inhales sharply. “What?”

“Just say it.” Tony scans Stevens’s appearance quickly. There’s no obvious sign of where any cameras or mics can be hidden, but Stevens does tend to dress bulky, so maybe this is why. “Don’t fuck around with me, just tell me how much you want.”

“No,” Stevens says, fumbling, “it’s not – that’s not what I—”

“I mean, it _is_ my fault,” Tony says, mouth rushing full steam ahead to cover the curdle of anger in his stomach. “I made a move on an employee, there’s no excuse for that, it’s not even like… Oh my fucking God – if you were sent by Hammer, I am honestly going to be pissed.”

“No, I’m not working for Hammer!”

“Then who are you? Journalist? Industrial activist? Con man sent by an old flame I barely remember?”

Stevens’s mouth open and closes, but he offers no answer or excuses, not even pathetic ones. All the guy can do, apparently, is say weakly: “I really do like you. A _lot_.”

The worst part is that Tony – for all his experience with liars and pretenders and people who say useless shit to get what they want – can’t find the deceit in Stevens’s voice. He looks genuine, sounds genuine, and in fact seems to be a tall bundle of pure misery, but obviously none of that can be true. The logical conclusion is that something in Tony’s brain is out of whack.

(What is there for Stevens to ‘really like’, anyway, besides Tony’s ass, cash and the fact that he’s Stevens’s _boss_. It’s pure lip-service.)

“Sure you do,” Tony says. Stevens looks like someone just punched him, which should be gratifying, but Tony is too busy being mad at himself to care. “Is Rudy Stevens your real name?”

At first it seems Stevens isn’t going to reply. He fidgets, stares at nothing, and has to pull from some deep reserve in order to whisper, “No.”

“Fine,” Tony snaps. “Well, you’re kind of an idiot, aren’t you? Could’ve squeezed a hell of a lot more out of me if you’d fucked me first, but them’s the breaks. Is it too much to ask that whatever it is you want, you can just deal with me, and leave Pepper and SI out of it? No, wait, that’s wrong, Pepper shouldn’t be blindsided by anything—”

“I’m not after your money,” Stevens says. “Or your technology, or any of your business secrets.”

“Okay, whatever,” Tony says. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave now.”

Stevens bobs his head quickly as he slinks for the elevator, the door of which is open and has been open for a while now. Tony can’t watch him go – in fact, he can’t even bear to look at him at all, so he turns away and heads for the windows.

The elevator doors go _whoosh_ as they close, and Tony is alone again.

He exhales slowly.

So. Here’s another entry in the long list of evidence of how Tony may be smart, but he can also be really, really stupid. It’s not like he hadn’t noticed that there was something slightly off and performative about Stevens, but he’d chalked that up to nerves and an understandable desire to impress. There was enough about Stevens that seemed genuine; little peeks into an off-work personality that reframed itself as a puzzle box that Tony may have been daydreaming here and there about how to solve.

Best case scenario: Stevens is some Don Draper-style liar, tricking his way into a decent job for the sake of creature comforts. Worst case scenario: Stevens was sent by someone worse than Hammer.

There’s Tony’s SHIELD connection to consider, too. He starts to mentally compose a message to Hill to warn her about a possible breach, before remembering that they’re still on silent mode. Tony hopes that whatever they’re facing, it’s less humiliating than this.

“JARVIS. Is Stevens still in the elevator?” When JARVIS affirms that he is, Tony says, “Scan him up. Does he have any electronics other than a phone on him?”

“_No, nothing active, sir._”

“Okay. I need you to compile his access logs in the Tower from the past few weeks. Rooms, labs, computers, anything with sensitive materials. He shouldn’t have been able to get into anything critical, but… see what you can find.”

“_Would you like me to do a deeper background check on him as well_?”

“Yeah. But send the results of both to Pepper. She has the clearer head.”

“_Will do, sir_.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tony sleeps fitfully, and wakes up tense enough that even his yoga stretches don’t help.

He does a full tally. His SHIELD inbox is still empty. His work inbox is _not _empty, but there’s no reply from Pepper about Stevens yet. The news cycle is still showing footage from yesterday’s chase, but the noise around it is mostly conjecture instead of facts. There’s nothing in the tabloids about a certain CEO getting inappropriately handsy with an underling.

Overall, it’s looking to be a non-disastrous but still-crappy morning, so Tony spends most of it in his personal workshop to get his bearings. He fiddles with his private projects – most of them neglected lately – until the need for a shower and some answers compels him to get both.

After Tony’s minty-fresh and dressed up, he goes down to the corporate floor. First thing he does upon coming out of the elevator is to take stock of a certain cubicle at eleven o’clock. Stevens’s place is empty, but Rushman’s isn’t. The woman is immediately on her feet, and comes clickety-clacketing over to him efficiently.

“Mr. Stark, if I could—” Rushman starts.

Tony cuts her off. “Where’s Ms. Potts?”

“She’s gone for that investor’s presentation,” she says, unflappable, “I sent the—”

“Right, yeah, she had the thing,” Tony says in disappointment. He doesn’t really want anyone else handling Stevens’s case, so that might have to wait. “Is Stevens around?”

“He has the day off. But he did tell me about the city fund you want to get going. I can get started on that first, if you like.”

“Sure, why not.”

Tony doesn’t mean to be curt, but he’s surprised, annoyed and perplexed that Stevens had time to tell Rushman about the repairwork idea. What kind of priorities are those? Stevens should’ve told her about Tony’s making a pass at him and the identity fraud bean-spilling that followed. Yet nothing about Rushman’s demeanor hints that she knows about those more important aspects of last night’s excitement.

What even is the way forward from here? Pepper would know what to do. Tony hasn’t cut off Stevens’s access to the building, but it’d take balls of steel for him to come back, whether or not he has an explanation. On the one hand, it’d be a relief if Stevens has cut his losses and run, never to return; on the other hand, Tony would rather find solid evidence of what he was actually up to. It’s just plain unnerving that JARVIS hadn’t been able to find anything so far.

Tony’s going to have to sit tight for a while longer, maybe.

“I’ll be in my office,” Tony says. “My day’s clear, isn’t it, except for the discussion with Lloyds’s team?”

“Yes, that’s right, but we’ve just received a request for an early appointment,” Rushman says. “From Alexander Pierce’s office.”

“Pierce.” In broad daylight, too, though Tony can’t summon the energy to be worried. “Fine, pencil him in. Let me know when he gets here.”

+

When Rushman said that Pierce wanted an early appointment, she wasn’t kidding. Tony barely gets to finish his coffee and read (okay, _skim_) a handful of team updates before Rushman is buzzing him that Pierce is in the building.

Rushman’s arranged for Pierce to be taken to one of the nicer lower-level meeting rooms, well out of range of the R&D labs. Tony mainly asked for this because he dislikes having any unchecked assault weapons – so necessary for a World Security Undersecretary’s security team – in the higher levels. A peeve, one might say.

Tony goes to the meeting room where Pierce is by himself, his security detail just outside. Hands are shaken, pleasantries are exchanged.

“Mr. Secretary,” Tony says. “What can I do you for today?”

“There’s no sugar-coating it,” Pierce says. “You saw the chase in the city yesterday.”

“Yeah, some of it up close. One of yours?”

“Nick Fury.” Pierce shakes his head, his expression severe. “He was the target. We have reason to believe that the people after him were associates of the hellicarrier hijack from a few weeks ago.”

“Is Fury all right?” Tony asks.

“He was brought to medical last night, but…” Pierce exhales, more angry than upset. “He didn’t make it.”

“Shit.” Tony sways, and has to catch the table behind him to steady himself. He may not have been close to Fury, but he owes the guy a hell of a lot. His first response is a denial – a question if Pierce is sure – but that already sounds asinine in his head. “Shit.”

“Hill is next in line, but we’re having trouble locating her,” Pierce continues. “World Security has temporarily put me in charge, and I have to be upfront with you. We need you.”

“Sure, of course.”

“The new hellicarriers. We need to shorten the timeline.”

“And by the shorten the timeline, you mean…”

“We need the flagship up by the end of the month.”

Tony starts to laugh, but stops at Pierce’s expression.

“Not a joke, Stark,” Pierce says.

If it were Fury asking, Tony would hem and haw and nudge at the request from as many angles as possible to try to find the real reasons behind it and exactly what corners Tony may be allowed to cut. But Pierce isn’t Fury, who only pretends to not have a sense of humor. Pierce is a politician, and Tony’s instinct with politicians has always been to sic Pepper on them.

Pierce continues, “With Fury and Hill unavailable, SHIELD is going to lose cohesiveness pretty quick. That’s what happens when you keep everyone in the dark from everyone else. The hellicarriers are going to have to pick up the slack.”

“Glad to know my work is appreciated.”

“We’re going to DC,” Pierce says. “Your escort is downstairs.”

“Wait a sec,” Tony says. “I can get there by myself.”

“This is critical,” Pierce says, though he’s not quite apologetic. “We still don’t know who got to Fury, which makes you a target, too.”

“Can’t you just send Cap to get me, geez?”

“Captain America has more important things to do,” Pierce says. “You have half an hour.”

Tony understands urgency, but this is too quick, too pushy, and too much of the cliché that Tony feared when he first tentatively agreed to the consultancy. For all that Fury is (was) a crotchety bastard who doled information as stingily as any Scrooge, he was fine with Tony setting the pace and space of his work. Fury didn’t have to tell him everything, but Fury didn’t assume Tony’s compliance, either.

It occurs to Tony to make a fuss, but there’s a few things at play: he’s still rattled by the news of Fury’s death, he knows what he owes Fury and so the least he can do is have a hand in finding the people responsible, and (though less important) he has an intense scientific curiosity about what’s happening with SHIELD.

Half an hour. Tony can’t pack his clothes in half an hour, but he can leave instructions with JARVIS and Rushman, and grab a few necessities from his private workshop. Pierce’s security collects him in the lobby, and he’s brought into another SUV, which is almost swank enough to make Tony not notice how the escort feels a hell of a like prisoner transport.

“So,” Tony says, once the doors have closed around them. He looks from one black-dressed agent to the other. Two of them, not including the driver, which seems like overkill. “What’s the in-flight service like?” He gets a few laughs, but that’s it.

The agents tell him that there’s a private plane waiting, but first they have to get through New York City traffic. Pierce is elsewhere in the city seeing to other business, but he’ll be joining them at the airport, and they have a laptop if Tony wants to look at the latest hellicarrier build immediately.

Tony says no to the laptop, but he does fiddle with his phone. He reads the news and a couple of emails, and rereads JARVIS’s earlier message about how if ‘Rudy Stevens’ isn’t the guy’s real identity, then he must have some serious backers because a lot of his background holds up. That last one is a concern, but right now it’s just another plate among many other plates spinning in the air.

Tony’s expectation is that any excitement to be had will occur once he’s in DC.

Hence, he’s not really expecting for the SUV to come out of the Midtown Tunnel and hear a familiar engine come in a roaring approach from up above.

Tony turns in his seat, wondering if it’s his imagination, or he’ll actually catch a glimpse of red, blue and white. But Agent Whatever puts a hand on Tony’s chest, pushing him flat against the seat. “Whoa there,” Tony protests.

“We’re going to need you sit tight, sir,” Agent Whatever says.

“Uh, okay,” Tony says slowly, not all that comforted by Agent That-One’s pulling a gun out of its holster. “I do not think this is part of my job description.”

There’s a sound, a whistling hum just at the lower end of hearing. There’s barely a second of it, which is just about the amount of time it takes for Tony to recognize it as Cap’s shield in approach. The sound is vibranium slicing the air, until it hits the back end of the SUV with a dramatic crunch of metal against metal, sending the vehicle skidding up against the sidewalk.

Good thing Tony’s got his arms out to brace himself. His head’s reeling as he realizes the implications of what’s happening: Cap stopping Tony from being taken to DC, Pierce’s security taking out their weapons to fire on Cap, and Fury’s death being the event to kick all of this off.

Agent Whatever has a window down, out of which he is firing his gun. Into the open. Where there are civilians.

Agent That-One says into his mic, “We got eyes on Cap.”

“That can’t be right,” says Agent Driver-Up-Front. “Didn’t the others already get Cap?”

That’s it, then. Tony acts, bringing the heel of his hand up to Agent That-One’s nose, then stamping a foot down onto his crotch. It’s enough of a ruckus to enable him to get away, push the door open, and roll out onto the ground. The agents’ attention is diverted anyway, because Cap’s doing the thing with the shield that Tony’s ever seen a handful of times but is far more impressive out here in the city, where his aim has to be far more precise.

“Yep,” Tony mutters as he keeps low, crawling on the sidewalk. “Definitely not in my job description.”

Tony eventually fumbles up onto his feet in search for cover, but the other agents don’t seem to be coming to get him – or, at least, they’ve been stopped from doing so. Tony’s decision is made when Cap comes circling around on his motorcycle, bringing it to a sharp stop that makes Tony pretty damn pleased with himself for designing the tires to be able to do just that.

“Stark!” Cap barks. “We gotta go, it’s about the hijackers, Fury found out that—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony runs the short distance to Cap’s motorcycle, where he clambers onto the back. The shield’s in the way, but Tony finds handholds on the straps of Cap’s belt. “Fill me in as we go.”

Cap kicks it, they speed off, and Tony’s just grateful that he already had his sunglasses on.

+

The espionage life is tedious and involves acting with more paranoia than Tony can be bothered with. But Tony keeps his complaints to a minimum as he’s dragged along with Cap’s creeping into a non-descript garage to switch his motorcycle out for a car, which he uses to get them out of the city before switching to yet another car that they take onto an interstate-free-ish route south west.

This portion is less exciting than the wham-bam-thank-you-vibranium, but Cap’s in full Captain America mode, tense and clipped even as he explains to Tony what he knows.

“Fury found something,” Cap says. “Whoever tried to take the hellicarrier, they’re organized, well-connected, and have far larger numbers that we expected. From Fury’s last update, he was getting close, and he said it could go far deeper into SHIELD than he ever thought possible.”

“A mass infiltration?”

“It shouldn’t be possible on this scale. Unless it’s…”

“A really long con?” Tony sighs. “Yeah. So he got too close, and they took him out?”

Cap clenches his jaw. “Yeah.”

The car isn’t very large, so Tony could in theory not even have to get up from his sprawl in the passenger seat to pat Cap’s shoulder. But Cap’s still on edge, his hands fixed stiffly ten-to-two on the steering wheel, and Tony has the impression that if he tried, the guy would snap like a piece of string yanked too tight.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “It’s not your fault.”

Cap seems to double-take, his head jerking upward a little. “I… Yeah, I know?”

“I mean, because you couldn’t save him. I saw you yesterday, in the chase. Got really close, actually. Not close enough to say hi, but… yeah.”

Cap doesn’t answer immediately. He seems to be deliberating, which seems a little odd. “That wasn’t me you saw yesterday,” he says at last.

“Dang, really? The shield looked convincing.”

“It is the real shield. That was another Cap with Fury yesterday. He doesn’t need the shield, but he uses it when I don’t.”

“Oh.” Tony feels a slight sting at not being told, but it’s quickly replaced by the understanding that he’s far enough down the ladder that it would’ve been weird and irresponsible if he _were _told. Whoever they’re up against also doesn’t seem to know there are more than two Caps, which has come to their advantage. “One of the agents said that they already got ‘Cap’. Is that the…?”

“Yeah, they got him last night,” Cap says. “But not the shield, which he’d already dropped off for me.”

“Some comm lines are open? ‘Cause you didn’t reply to my messages.”

“By comms, you mean old-fashioned dead drops? Yeah.” Cap inclines his head, apologetic. “Sorry I didn’t reply, I wanted to find out what was going on first.”

“So instead of giving me a head’s up, you thought you’d go for the personal touch?” Tony says. “You had the element of surprise, Cap. They didn’t know there were more of you, until you showed yourself.”

“Yeah, well. Had to stop them from getting you.”

“Because I’m important for their hellicarrier plan, right?”

Cap has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Sure, that’s the only reason why. You’ve been forced to build things at gunpoint before. It doesn’t sit too good with me if I let it happen again.”

Okay, that was not the answer he expected. Tony feels a flash of warmth, followed by indignance that Cap thought that Tony can’t handle himself, followed by guilt at it being his own fault after all that Cap gave up a useful advantage. Tony could brush it off, saying that Cap really didn’t need to, but it’s done, and they’re here, and Tony better make it worthwhile.

“You gonna get in trouble for telling me?” Tony says. “About the other Cap?”

“Who would I get in trouble _with_? Fury’s dead, Hill’s gone dark.”

“Well, you’re still wearing the cowl, so you still care about some things being done properly. Or maybe you just don’t want me to make fun of your ugly mug.”

That could be too much, or the moment wrong for it. But Tony feels a notch in his chest easing when Cap huffs a laugh. Not a full laugh, but it’s promising. Cap relaxes a smidge, too, with his neck visibly loosening from its at-attention stiffness.

“What’re you gonna do if we get pulled over by the cops?” Tony says. “SHIELD training got you covered for that?”

“I’ll tell them that I’m a very dedicated cosplayer.”

Tony gasps into a laugh. “Oh my god. No.”

“I’ve done it before. Brought out my Instagram and everything.”

“_No_.”

“Okay, there’s no Instagram.” Cap’s fully smirking now. “But I did let the park ranger take a picture with me once.”

“I refuse to believe you.”

“These are the things we must do for the sake of national security.”

“Like tolerating perpetual helmet hair?”

“You are assuming I have hair to begin with.”

“Fair point.” With Cap easing up, Tony can ease up, too. He’d shed his jacket a while back, but now he rolls his shirtsleeves up, and considers poking at the ancient stereo to figure out some music. “Where you taking us, by the way?”

“Falcon has a safehouse,” Cap says. “No one in SHIELD knew about it except for the Caps. Not even Fury.”

“And once we’re there…?”

“Once you’re there, you’ll lay low.”

“You are kidding me.”

“I know you have experience being targeted by dangerous people, but—”

“I am also a resource,” Tony says. “They knew it, so they went after me. If _you_ don’t use me, you’re being a goddamned idiot, because you’ve already given up one advantage. I’m here. Let me help.”

Cap’s exhale is fantastically frustrated. “Stark.”

“You know I’m right. Just think about it.” Tony watches Cap clench his jaw, a dramatic flex of muscle along the strap of his chin guard. Then Tony adds for the kill: “Fury was my friend, too.”

Cap sees right through him, though, because he says, “You asshole.”

“Language,” Tony says promptly.

For the next couple of miles, Cap tries the silent treatment. Or maybe he’s just run out of things to say, which is also a valid response.

Tony contemplates the car radio. He turns it on, fiddles through a couple of channels, and rues the good sense for a getaway car to have minimal electronics and no GPS whatsoever. After a while he finds, bypasses, and returns to a channel playing not-intolerable classic rock.

Tony tries to redirect his thoughts into a more productive stream. Pepper will be fine, SI will be fine, Tony’s penthouse will be put on full bomb-shelter lockdown if Pierce (if he’s actually involved) or anyone else tries to force their way in. Tony may not have planned to go on the run today, but the contingencies he’s put in place serve his change in agenda well enough.

“Fury left a dead drop during the chase,” Cap says eventually. “The other Cap found it, left it for me. It looks like a USB. It has a USB port, anyway.”

“Absolutely fascinating,” Tony says. “I am riveted.”

“What would you need if you wanted to, uh…”

“What?”

Cap sighs. “What hardware would you need to access an encrypted device?”

“Are you asking, Cap? Are you asking for help? From me? Because I thought that wasn’t in the game plan.”

“Stark!” Cap shouts.

Tony’s mouth snaps shut, while his body’s tensed up with the unexpected kick-in of fight-or-flight. Cap’s never shouted at him before, but Tony supposes that there’s a first time for everything. It’s fine. Tony jokes too much, doesn’t read the room, and doesn’t respond correctly when a guy with a hell of a lot of responsibility on his shoulders has the extra hurt from the death of a friend and colleague.

“A USB port to a data cable,” Tony says. “That’s all I need.”

“Geez.” Cap sounds shaken. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Lots to worry about.”

“Even so, I shouldn’t have. You’re here because of me, and your help is more than we deserve.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s my job.”

“No, it’s _not_.”

It’s the open emotion that surprises. Tony may not have known Cap that long, but he’s only ever seen the guy even-keeled and in control, even (and especially during) literal life-and-death crises. When Tony looks at him now, he’s unsettled to see restless twitching in the narrow strip of Cap’s face that’s visible through the cowl, as he stares (glares?) at the road ahead.

His own discomfort forgotten, Tony says, “Is something else bothering you? Something besides the possible SHIELD infestation?”

Cap seems to stiffen. Maybe? It’s hard to tell again. “It’s just been a rough couple of days,” he says.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, well. It’s my own fault.”

Tony’s eyebrows jump up in surprise. “Is it your own fault like: you had the genius idea to run with scissors all by yourself, or your own fault like: scissors happened to someone else and you didn’t stop it?”

“What… kind of simile is that?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a poet.”

Cap makes a strange noise just then, a breathy gasp-sigh that could pass for fond almost as equally as it could pass for bitter. It’s utterly baffling, which Tony decides to chalk up to the complexities of being a high-performance military man trying to live up to a near-impossible legacy. It’s beyond Tony’s scope, but he can sympathize about the legacy part, at least. Also, selfishly, Tony’s kinda relieved that whatever’s got Cap’s goat, it doesn’t have anything to do with Tony.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” Cap says.

“For what?” Tony says. “Being on the lam?”

“Being Captain America,” he says, which makes Tony inhale sharply in surprise. “There are…. Anyway. The cowl deserves better.”

“Better,” Tony echoes. “If you don’t want to be Cap, sure, nothing wrong with that. But ‘better’? What is that?”

“I made a mistake.”

“You’ve met me, right? I’m a whole string of mistakes. No, no,” Tony says quickly, when it looks like Cap is about to argue, “that’s not an invitation for debate. What I’m _saying_ is that okay, yeah, you’ve made mistakes, but you can’t undo them, right? They’re there, they’ll always be there. All’s left is looking forward. And hey, ‘better’ is exactly what Carter demanded of _herself_ when she became Cap. She made mistakes, but – and this is only hearsay, though if you call my mom a liar I’m gonna have to demand pistols at dawn – the responsibility to be better was on _her_, not on anyone else.”

Cap doesn’t say anything. Driving is apparently more interesting than coming up with a reply. Or maybe he’s waiting for Tony to fill the silence, which he would, except it feels more apt to let that sink in.

“We should make a stop soon,” Cap says.

“Sure,” Tony says. “And you can, uh. I mean. I know I don’t have clearance, but if there’s anything you want to get off your chest and you can make the details as vague as possible, I’m… well, to be frank, I’m absolute shit at giving advice, but I’m slightly less shit at listening? Sometimes. If you bribe me with food.”

“God.” Cap shakes his head. “But thank you. I appreciate the offer.”

“More or less than my offer to help you with the USB?”

“You ranking those things now?”

“Always,” Tony says. “How else do I figure out my going rate? Which I’m still not sure you can afford.”

Cap tilts his head to peer out the window, reading the signs as they drive past them. “How do burgers sound?”

“Oh no, my weakness.”

+

This isn’t at all what Tony had in mind when he’d pondered the possibility of hanging out with Cap. For starters, his imagining failed to take account the matter of the cowl, which isn’t a normal fashion accessory yet has, over the time of knowing him, become just another facet of Cap’s appearance and thus barely noticeable in itself. Pepper has red hair, Happy has rosy cheeks and Rhodey has a very kissable spot just above his ear; Cap has a cowl.

Hence, Tony’s brain breaks a little bit when Cap changes _out _of the cowl. Cap’s brought their car into a gas station so they can change clothes (because Cap of course has getaway clothes for both of them ready). Hoodies are the theme of the day: Tony gets a faded blue one, with sleeves that are just a little too long, while Cap gets a large dark brown one, the hood of which is pulled over a matching brown fleece ski mask that covers most of his face save the same stretch of skin below his nose to the tip of his chin.

“You look moronic,” Tony says. “But I admire your commitment to looking like a creep.”

“Thanks,” Cap says dryly.

There’s a diner nearby. Cap goes by himself – presumably removing the ski mask before he goes in so he doesn’t get a shotgun pulled on him – while Tony stays in the car. Alone, Tony gets restless enough to consider turning his cellphone on and finding out what’s been happening in the last few hours, but he resists.

Cap returns with bags of greasy food, which Tony holds like a savory-smelling baby in his lap as they take a shorter drive to find a private, and theoretically safe, spot to eat.

They find a tiny, ill-maintained parking lot on the edge of some town Cap probably knows the name of but Tony can’t be bothered with. It’s not picturesque, but it’s good enough, and Tony’s hungry as fuck. They open the doors and eat while sitting sideways on the seats, their legs swung outside. Cap’s in the front and Tony’s at the back, and they pass food and drink back and forth between them.

“What do you think they want the hellicarriers for?” Tony asks.

“Just another sequel to the space race, probably. Control of the skies. But it might not even be the hellicarriers in themselves that they’re after.”

“Yeah.” Tony nods. “It’s the biggest thing I’m doing for SHIELD right now, so it makes sense to use that as an excuse to pull me out.”

“I got the cable, by the way,” Cap says. “Bought it back at the gas station.”

Tony looks up at the sky, which is orange-gold now as they approach evening. “We’re going to need a secure spot before we start. They can’t trace my phone—”

“You sure?”

Tony throws a fry at Cap without looking. “They can’t trace my phone, but the USB probably has a beacon on it. Standard procedure – only lights up when it’s accessed. Unless Falcon’s safehouse is really secure, I mean like _really_ secure, it’s not a good idea to plug it in there.”

“Can’t you kill the beacon?”

“If I had my lab, yeah, probably. I can maybe delay the signal to buy time, but not by much if you want to keep the data on the drive intact. Where is the USB, by the way?”

“Not on me. We’ll pick it up on the way.” Cap gets up from his seat and holds a hand out, collecting Tony’s rubbish to throw away with his own.

Tony stays seated as Cap makes the quick half-jog across the street, to where there’s a public trashcan that looks like it’s seen better days. It’s still surreal to see him out of the suit, though the hoodie and jeans do little to hide the ridiculous taper from mountain-broad shoulders to itty bitty Cinderella waist. Tony spends a few seconds especially appreciating the swell of a muscular ass, before he remembers himself and snaps out of it guiltily.

Stevens’s fault, Tony tells himself. The tail end of last night’s tête-à-tête may have been a cold douse of water, but the handful of minutes before that was nothing short of scorching. Tony tries not to think about it, just like how he’s barely been thinking about it all day, but the memory’s gotten a foot in the door and nudging its way in: of Stevens’s fingers curling sharp on Tony’s waist and the way Stevens nuzzled Tony’s face as though searching for all the interesting angles that their mouths could fit together.

Tony shouldn’t be nursing any nostalgic hard-ons for a con artist whom (if luck has it) Pepper’s already filing a fraud report against, but damn that guy could kiss. Everything else he’d done before that must’ve been manipulation and thus not worth thinking about, but his kisses lingers even now, when Tony should be more worried about his being on the run from big bads with potential world destruction goals. There’s no reason for Tony to look at Cap, his quasi-colleague who’s also literally a superhero and probably looks like Bruce Willis circa the later _Die Hards_ under his woolly balaclava, and for Tony’s brain to abruptly think about a completely different guy who might’ve already cashed a paycheck in return for a half-assed attempt to get into Tony’s pants.

Not that there’s anything wrong with looking like Bruce Willis, mind. It’s just that Tony’s horniness has gotten him into trouble once this week already, and he really should know better than to project on poor Cap, whose only sin thus far has been to have a butt hard enough Tony could probably crack his jaw on it.

As Cap returns to the car, he says, “Do you think—”

“Yeah!” Tony says shrilly.

Cap pauses. “What?”

“No,” Tony says. “Sorry, yeah, what? Think what?”

“If we’re going to open the USB, we can change the plan,” Cap says, head tilted as though he’s studying Tony, which he probably is. “I was going to take the drive to Falcon’s, but if you can open it, I’d rather we do it as soon as we get our hands on it.”

“What’s the other items on your To Do list?”

“Get Winter out,” Cap says. “Sorry, that’s the other Captain America.”

“Winter Cap sounds like something you collect off a shelf in Walmart.”

“Well, this one’s in DC under lock ‘n key. Unless he’s already broken out, which is also possible.”

“Anyone else you can call in to help, besides Falcon?”

“I haven’t been able to reach Coulson for a while. Other than him, there’s… one more, but she’s keeping her head down right now. I can call her for intel, or for back-up if it really goes bad, but I’d rather she stay where she is. Just in case.”

SHIELD is thousands of personnel strong this side of the country. Cap’s admission is chilling, even when only taking into account field agents with certain capabilities, access and familiarity. “That’s not a lot of people,” Tony says.

“I know.” Cap leans against the car, his exhaustion more mental than physical. He makes a move as though to his usual thing of resting his thumbs into his belt, but that won’t work with the hoodie so he crosses his arms instead. His big, big arms. Tony looks away.

“What’s the plan right now, then?” Tony asks.

“Get some shut-eye,” Cap says. “Their search is still on, so we should pace ourselves. It’ll be safer to pick up the USB in the morning among the crowd.”

“Dibs on the back seat,” Tony says promptly.

Cap huffs a laugh. “We’ll find a motel.”

Tony starts to say that Cap needn’t bother, but he would actually like to have a shower and get some sleep on a bed, even if a crappy one. Cap’s probably used to sleeping to on gravel, though he could do with a decent mattress as well. Tony’s thoughts start to slip sideways again, wondering what Cap’s regular evening/nighttime routine is like. Does he even have a routine at all? Does being a Captain America allow it?

“It’s not easy to take Winter down,” Cap says. “He’s a full Captain America, as good as Falcon.”

“And yourself,” Tony says.

Cap makes a neutral sound that’s not exactly an agreement, but not far enough a disagreement that Tony feels the need to protest further. “He doesn’t have the full serum, but he does have the healing factor, and another hook that makes him pretty fucking formidable. It’s tough to take him down.”

“I can imagine.”

“From what I heard, it went down in the Triskelion itself. _SHIELD agents_ took him down. These are the people we trusted to have our backs and it…” Cap lets out a near-whistle through his nose, a bull trying not to rise to the bait. “It’s fucked. I feel I should have…”

“Fury hadn’t known. _Fury_. So I think you can cut yourself a little slack there, Cap. I mean—” Tony hesitates, unsure if interjecting is his narcissism rearing its head or a human attempt to connect with a literal hero Tony thinks is a friend, “—you know about Stane, right?”

For a long second Cap doesn’t move, but then he nods slowly.

“That’s pretty fucked up, too, yeah? And I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. But I’m not letting that mess up everything else, for the simple reason that I have shit to get done. Just like how you do. We can fix this, and we will, because we owe it to Fury.”

“Even after Stane, you still took chances with people,” Cap says, sounding oddly distant.

Something pings at the back of Tony’s brain, like a tickle of déjà vu except it’s not tied to any specific detail Tony can identity. Is it Cap’s voice? Some cadence in it, maybe, though that’s still no reason for the hairs on Tony’s arm to rise despite the snugness of the hoodie.

“To be fair, that wasn’t what I was going for,” Tony says. “I’m just regurgitating a piece of personal history in an attempt show that despite our different backgrounds we have a commonality of experience, and I am doing _that_ because I don’t want you to feel too crappy, but also because I think it’d be more useful if you save your anger for when it’ll be useful.” He pauses, and is relieved when Cap smiles. “Is it working?”

“Yeah,” Cap says. “It’s pretty good.”

“Thanks. Now you owe me a shower.”

Cap’s ridiculously broad chest rises like a jostling volcano as he takes a deep breath. Determination stiffens his jaw, and he stands up straight, somehow managing to look like an impressive recruitment poster despite the lack of a tactical suit to go with it.

“All right,” Cap says. “That’s our next mission objective.”

+

They find a motel.

Cap gets one room with two beds, despite Tony’s pointing out that getting two rooms would mean that Cap won’t have to suffer through sleeping with his ski mask on. Cap insists that safety is more important, and that he’s used to sleeping with the helmet so a mask is actually more comfortable, and also that they shouldn’t use too much of their reserve cash. Tony throws his hands in the air and says that as long as he doesn’t have to give Cap the Heimlich maneuver if he chokes on the mask in his sleep, then everything will be fine.

Tony’s in the bathroom when he realizes there’s another problem. Admittedly, it’s not that huge a problem when compared to the other huge problems they have on their dance card, and his discomfort needs to be weighed against the risk of what they’ll be doing in the near future.

He makes a decision. He finishes his shower, puts on his shorts and the spare shirt Cap got him, and comes out of the bathroom toweling his hair.

Cap’s fiddling with the TV, but he freezes a little when he sees Tony. A subtle thing, just his back stiffening a little and his hands fumbling with the connecting to cables.

“Yeah, so here’s the thing.” Tony taps a thumb at the edge of arc reactor. He’s had almost a year to get decent at hiding it – layers, dark shirts, thick undershirts with a hole cut out to flatten his chest around the jutting circle – and he could probably get away with it today, if he wanted to. But he really doesn’t want to wear the hoodie to sleep, and if he’s going to be in peril again anytime soon, he’d rather Cap knows about it beforehand so he won’t do something stupid like, say, try to remove it.

“I have a hi-tech pacemaker.” Tony waves a hand in a magician’s flourish over the glow in his chest, which is now visible through the cotton shirt. “It’s not in my file. Fury and Cho know about it, but they agreed to keep it off the books. It’s not a big deal. Just thought I’d cut the questions off at the pass.”

Cap’s eyes are on Tony’s chest. For a handful of heavy seconds he says nothing, and Tony has to forcibly resist the urge to squirm. The last new person to see it was Cho, a professional through and through who barely blinked at the time, and has since helped him calibrate and install each new one. It’s not that even Tony cares about the thing in itself, but what it means – its history and implied vulnerability as tied to a body Tony hasn’t been too good at taking care of.

“Okay,” Cap says.

Tony swallows. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry that you need it, but I’m glad you told me. Is there anything about it I should know?”

“Anything…?”

“Are there things you can’t do?” Cap says. “If you get electrocuted, would that cause extra problems for the device? What about water contact?”

“Oh,” Tony says, surprised. “That’s, no. I made it myself so it’s pretty damn hardy. I can probably get hit by lightning and it’d be fine, though the rest of me less so.”

“I’ll make sure not to hit you with lightning.”

A laugh startles out of Tony. “Gee, thanks.”

“Does it need regular maintenance? If we need to go back to the Tower—”

“No, definitely not.” Tony inclines his head the small bag he’d brought with him from the Tower. “I have what I need for now.”

“You’re prepared,” Cap says with a smile. “Of course you are. What about physical strain – running, stress? Will that be a problem with the device?”

“I’ve built all that in to compensate. Mainly I just don’t want anyone touching it. It’s not delicate or anything like that, but it’s… yeah.”

Cap nods seriously. “Of course. I’ll make sure of that.”

Tony relaxes. He’s also sheepish at being anxious in the first place, but that anxiousness is there for a good reason. Cap’s concern is a warm blanket, and for a brief moment Tony’s tempted to tell him the rest of it, too, but that’s quitter talk. What the hell’s wrong with Tony that just a little bit of kindness gets him flopping over so easily?

“Now I’m just even more sorry you got caught up with all this,” Cap says with a sigh.

“It’s fine.” Tony heads over to the bed he’d picked and sits down. The mattress bounces annoyingly, forcing him to move into a cross-legged sitting position to be comfortable. “Can’t say I’m not enjoying this little road trip. Last time I did something like this was with Rhodey. God, that was ages ago.”

“I can’t imagine you going on road trips.”

“Mostly it was him dragging me around,” Tony admits.

It’s Cap’s turn to use the bathroom, but he comes over instead, sitting down on the next bed with his back propped up to the headboard. The TV’s playing the news: footage of their fracas earlier today is playing, but Tony’s used to seeing himself on TV. Tony’s less used to seeing Cap sitting on a bed all casual-like. He’s the type to always stand properly, sit properly – perfect posture in everything. But that’s while on the clock, isn’t it? This is off-the-clock, kind of.

“Winter and I used to do this growing up,” Cap says.

“Winter…” Tony blinks. “The third Cap? You were friends before you joined SHIELD?”

“Yep,” Cap says. “We were kids together, went into the army together. I got into SHIELD first but—”

“No, no, tell me about little Captains running around together,” Tony says. “Was it something in the water, what?”

“Exact same thing Hill said, but who knows?” Cap’s long legs are in front of him, and he hooks one ankle over the other as he starts talking of a childhood with his mom, struggling through childhood maladies on a nurse’s pay, meeting Winter and growing tight through back alley fights and dreams of finding purpose.

Better than any audio book, really. Tony finds himself turning towards Cap to listen, and occasionally interpose with an anecdote or two of the crap he got up to with Rhodey at MIT, but mostly he listens. The content is stupendous, but there’s Cap’s voice, too – even and soothing but with a thrum of commanding power lurking just underneath, as if he’s some massive tiger that’s currently at rest and purring.

They should get some rest, but Tony is enthralled.

“It’s because I went on my own to rescue Winter that I got Fury’s attention,” Cap says. “Which pissed Winter off to no end, ‘cause he felt it was rewarding me for my bullheadedness.”

“Is that why he agreed to be the third Cap? To keep an eye on you?”

“He says someone has to,” Cap says. “Though Falcon said that defeats the purpose, since there’s supposed to be one active Captain at any given time. But it’s worked out so far.”

“And it spreads the mission load.”

“Exactly.”

“A good system. It’s neat that you’re watching out for each other like that. Does it give you time for a Mrs. Cap? Or… a Mr. Cap?”

Cap doesn’t immediately answer. He shifts his shoulders against the headboard, in the way of someone busying themselves with physical movement to cover for trying to figure out what to say.

Tony jolts when he realizes how that question sounds when coupled with the fact that somewhere in the middle of Cap’s Storytelling Hour, Tony’s body decided that it wanted to sprawl on the bed, which it did. He’s doing the semi-elegant semi-lazy drape of a Renaissance painting, albeit on a motel bed, and so quickly pushes himself up into a semi-sitting position.

“Wait, no,” Tony says, “don’t get me wrong, I’m not hitting on you. Sure, I’m a slut, but that’s not what I’m doing. I’m just asking ‘cause I’m curious.”

Cap sighs. “Do you have to use that word?”

“Which one, ‘curious’?” Tony laughs, though more at Cap’s unimpressed jut of his jaw than Tony’s own joke. “Sorry, you left that one wide open. Though I would bet you cold hard cash _and_ your vibranium shield that my whoremonger ways are listed in my SHIELD file. Not in those specific words, but they are. Am I right?”

It’s a trap of a question, and Cap sees it well enough. He dodges with an expert, “No, there’s no Mr. or Mrs. Cap.”

“Ah, so you’re not interested? The work’s satisfying by itself, isn’t it? I get you. I’m not…” Tony trails off, ready to drop it, but Cap’s looking over at him with interest. “I thought there might be someone, but it was a false alarm.”

Cap nods sympathetically. “Not a good guy?”

Tony starts a little, wondering and impressed that Cap jumped to the person being a man. “Nah, he was just a garden variety douche, no big deal. I meet the kind all the time, so I should’ve seen it coming.”

“Stark.”

“I’m just being truthful! Hanging out with you’s more fun, anyway. But! In the off-chance that he _wasn’t_ a prick, it still wouldn’t have gone anywhere. So, actually he did me a favor by being one.”

“Why wouldn’t it have gone anywhere?”

“Oh, you know, because I’m a—”

“If you say that word one more time I’m going to fetch some goddamned soap.”

“I wasn’t gonna!” Tony laughs. “Really, I wasn’t.”

“Sure,” Cap says, unconvinced.

It’s strange – Tony’s been oversharing almost all his life on every conceivable detail, be it to annoy or deflect or just bask in other people’s discomfort. But that’s been on the downturn lately, after Yinsen and his knife-sharp cuts to Tony’s heart that were both physical and metaphorical, and Tony hasn’t been able to get his old feet back under him since. He loves Pepper, Rhodey and Happy; would do anything for them, _is_ trying to do as much as he can for them. But Tony’s been working on his priorities, and near the top is the idea that after almost a lifetime of leaving pain and destruction in his wake, he should make an effort to… not do that. Especially for his loved ones.

Cap isn’t like them. He cares about Tony’s wellbeing, but in the general way that he cares about people at large, so it’s not about Tony specifically. It’s been easy to tell Cap some things Tony’s otherwise kept a lid on – such as Yinsen and the presence of the mod in his chest – _because _of that lack of true closeness, coupled with the fact that Cap won’t use those things against him. Probably. Maybe. Okay, it’s still possible that Cap might use it against him, but he hasn’t _so far_, and Tony’s been bursting at the seams with no one but JARVIS to talk to, so maybe he’s a little compromised. And he does have a habit of poking at shit despite the risk that it’d blow up in his face later.

“There’s a bunch of reasons.” Tony keeps it light, so to keep away any possible oppressive tension in the room, because that would be a buzzkill. “Say, theoretically, that the dude wasn’t a prick _and_ wasn’t literally working for me. Yeah?”

“All right,” Cap says.

“It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us,” Tony says. “SI is at a really important crossroads right now, and all my party time these days goes to SHIELD. There’s no space left for… a person. You get that, right? You’re giving everything _you_ have to SHIELD.”

“Sure,” Cap says carefully, “but if I wanted someone, I’d make the space for them.”

“Yeah, you would. But you’re probably better than me at handling that.” Tony gestures at Cap’s face, still half-covered in fleece. “Your work, your very identity is classified. I mean, yeah, millions of people with sensitive jobs manage it all the time, but that is so not me.” It’s hard enough with Pepper and Rhodey as it is, and if fucking Howard didn’t have to keep his lives separate, like hell would Tony do it. “I wouldn’t want to keep that side of my life away from a partner. I’m not like you guys.”

“You’re not like… me?” Cap says slowly.

“Compartmentalization, all that?” Tony shrugs. “I guess I could if I really had to, but I don’t want to.”

“And what, you think I _do_?”

“No, of course, not. But you accept it because, well… freedom and justice, all that.”

“Ah,” Cap says, anger coloring his voice, “so it’s duty in one box, feelings in the other. All neat and tidy, is that it?”

“Hey, my best friend is Air Force, okay?” Tony says. “I sell – used to sell – weapons for a living, I bumped shoulders with military people on the regular.”

“So you know what it takes to do the job but try to stay human? That somehow we are _not_ human the way that you are?”

“Oh my god, Cap! I’m just saying that you’re tougher than I am!”

“Why are you so sure about that?”

“Because it’s… self-evident?” Tony feels himself deflate, the momentum of his argument unspooling in the face of the unhappiness radiating off of Cap. The guy’s bursts of emotion don’t happen often, but when they do, Tony can’t help but sit up and notice. Caps cares deeply about this, which is more than enough for Tony to backtrack immediately.

“Ah, hell.” Tony runs a hand over his face, and takes a moment to breathe into his palms. When he pulls his hands away, Cap’s moving to get up off the bed, probably to take his delayed shower. “I’m a dumbass,” Tony says quickly. “I didn’t realize how hard it is for you, too. Because of course it is.”

Cap’s head jerks up a little. His eyes meet Tony’s, a quick flash of unreadable intensity before he’s turning away for the duffel bag of spare clothes. “You’re not a dumbass,” Cap says. “You want to be honest with any partner you have. Sounds like being the opposite of a dumbass.”

“Or just being lazy. All that having to keep your stories straight? Ugh.” Tony adds quickly, “Not that I’m disparaging the work you do, Cap. Sacrifices need to be made, all that.”

Cap just hums neutrally. “Get some sleep, Tony. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“This is the worst slumber party I’ve ever been to,” Tony says with a sigh. “I want a refund.”

“You pay to get into slumber parties?”

Tony opens his mouth, closes it again, and shakes his head. “Okay, I had a very tasteless comment which I will not say out of respect for the audience present. Please proceed to your shower.”

“Right,” Cap says.

“Yeah.” Tony shuffles up the bed to test the pillow, and it’s only once Cap’s in the bathroom and the shower’s running does he realize that Cap used Tony’s first name. Probably didn’t even realize he did it, not that Tony minds.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony sleeps… okay. Not great, but okay. Waking up is also just okay, though it’s improved somewhat by the fact that Cap went out while Tony was asleep to get coffee and breakfast, both of which are on the dresser when Tony finally bothers to open his eyes.

“Coffee’s slightly burnt, but it’s not awful.” Cap’s already up and dressed. He’s got the top half of his tactical suit on, with the hoodie over it. The overall effect has him appearing even bulkier, which in turn has Tony’s groggy brain contemplating reinforced underarmor options for undercover missions with better features, stealth and mobility than typical kevlar-scale vests.

These productive thoughts accompany Tony through the rest of a morning routine. He uses the bathroom, gets back in the hoodie and jeans, eats breakfast, and listens as Cap explains what’s going to happen today.

“You have to promise me you’ll stay in the car,” Cap says.

“Yeah.”

“I’m serious, Stark.”

“So am I, geez.” Tony shoves the last of his things into his bag, and perches his sunglasses on the top of his head. “If it goes sideways, the best place for me to be is _not_ there.”

Cap’s still studying Tony’s face closely, which is at least kinda amusing. “I agree.”

According to Cap, his Winter bestie put the USB in a bus station locker. Said bus station is nearby, but there’s a risk of this information being compromised and people lying in wait there for them. Tony doesn’t like the idea of Cap going in alone and without the shield, but there’s not much else he can do. The least Tony can do is not give Cap something else to worry about.

Cap drives them into the town, and parks a block away from the bus station. He double-checks everything, and then gets out of the car and waits for Tony to move over into the driver’s seat.

“Sound check,” Cap says.

Tony taps the piece in his ear. “Loud and clear. Good luck.”

Cap bobs his head sideways, an acknowledgement that doesn’t press said luck. Tony watches Cap’s back as walks away, and how Cap puts a hand up into his hoodie to presumably push the mask up to his crown without letting Tony see. There’s a moment, just as Cap slips into the ambling morning crowd, where his body language shifts. His shoulders drop, his gait loosens – not a soldier on a mission but a man taking a morning stroll. Nifty.

Tony pulls out his phone and props it on his lap. He hasn’t used it since yesterday’s escape with Cap and he switches it on now. He _is _positive that SHIELD doesn’t have the ability to trace it, but there’s still the niggling paranoia of them gleaning some other information if Tony plugs in. Better to make every connected second count.

The screen lights up, and Tony smiles at the flicker of blue. “Hey, JARVIS.”

“_Good morning, sir_,” JARVIS says, his voice tinny on the phone’s speakers. “_It’s very good to hear from you_.”

“You, too. Count it out for me – Pepper, Happy, the Tower?”

“_All secure. Ms. Potts was concerned to receive your message, but she and Mr. Hogan have gone to LA for work matters as per your suggestion._”

“Good, good. Rushman still at the Tower?”

“_Yes, sir_.”

“Patch me through to her, use the landline, you know the drill.”

There’s a click, followed by ringing. Tony’s intermittently looking out of the window, and notes that Cap’s still doing the first of two rounds of the block before going inside.

“_Hello, this is Natalie Rushman_—”

“Hey Ms. Rushman, it’s the boss,” Tony says. “How’s it going? Good? I need you to do something.”

There’s a rustle, which is presumably Rushman moving to a slightly more private position at her desk. “_Of course, Mr. Stark._”

“Pull out the Tower’s emergency drill procedures, keep them close, know them like the back of your hand. If I or JARVIS tell you to lock down the Tower, you get everyone out and you do it immediately. Got it?”

“_Yes, Mr. Stark_.”

“And, uh…” Tony looks out of the window again – Cap’s finally making his way into the station, so he needs to be quick. He wasn’t sure if he was going to ask this next part, but adrenaline compels him to blurt out: “Is Stevens in the office?”

“_Would you like to speak to him?_”

“Oh, no no no, that’s not necessary.” Tony swallows. “I, uh…”

“_I’m aware of your request for a second background check on him, Mr. Stark. I looked into it for Ms. Potts, and I’ve spoken to Stevens myself._”

Oh. Oh wow. “You know who he really is?”

“_Yes, I do. I can’t explain everything over the phone_—”

“No, yeah, I get it, yeah.”

“—_but Stevens promises that he meant no ill-will. He has no interest in blackmail, filing a suit, or taking anything from SI._ _He has offered a security bond for us to hold onto as a show of good faith_, a_nd says you never have to see him again. I have yet to accept his resignation or file fraud charges._”

“Right,” Tony says distantly. It was probably a mistake to ask this now, no matter how much he needed to know. “Do you think he’s full of shit?”

“_Sorry?_”

“Do you think he’s telling the truth? I know it’s not your call, but I just want to know what you think.”

“_I…_” The pause is agonizing. “_I believe his promises are real, and that he’s a good man who had an error in judgment. But it’s more complicated_—”

“Yeah, I bet it is,” Tony says. “Let’s table this for when I get back. Is Pierce or World Security giving you any trouble?”

“_Nothing I can’t handle._”

“Good. Okay. I’ll get back to you.” Tony ends the call and takes a handful of deep breaths. “Okay, J.”

“_Yes, sir_?” JARVIS says.

“You’re really sure about the logs?”

“_Yes, sir. Rudy Stevens hasn’t gone anywhere or taken anything from the Tower that he wasn’t already authorized to._”

“C’mon,” Tony says with a whine. “Not even a pen? I bet Rushman takes the pens.”

“_No stationery, sir. Neither has there been any unusual mention of you in the tabloids or newsfeeds, aside from your daring but mysterious escape with Captain America._”

If Tony weren’t waiting in a getaway car for Cap to return with a key piece of intel that could help protect the free world, he would totally have a tantrum right now. He’d kick something, or throw something, or maybe even just let Dum-E and U have free rein of the workshop in utter havoc.

But no. He has to _sit tight._ He has to stay still and quiet as he processes the possibility that Stevens’s guilt isn’t the recognizable picture he’d already settled on in his head. Identity fraud all by itself is just incomprehensible; there must be a further agenda, which is usually money. If Tony sends JARVIS scurrying down Stevens’s financial trail, he’ll probably find it.

What if he doesn’t, though? What if it’s just imposter syndrome gone wild? What if Stevens is just some poor guy trying to outrun a past that wouldn’t let him go, and the reason that so much of his casual kindness seemed heartfelt is because it _was_? But that sounds too much like a Mills & Boon novel, doesn’t it.

“_Stark,_” Cap says in his ear.

Tony jerks up. “A-yup.”

“_We are not alone_.”

Tony pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. The engine’s still running. “Gotcha.”

Goddamn fucking Rudy Stevens with his stupid bashful face and his stupid kissable mouth and his stupid sweet mystery man aura that has turned out be an actual mystery. Maybe Tony should be grateful that this SHIELD bullshit is going on right now, because a single con man is vastly less impressive than a possible intelligence agency mass infiltration.

Outside, Cap is running.

Cap is running towards the car, and there’s a man running after him, and Cap’s multitasking skills are so excellent that he already has the mask pulled back on. Tony unlocks the doors and brings the window down, just as Cap yells, “Move over!”

“I can drive!” Tony yells back.

Still Cap gestures wildly, insisting that Tony shift seat. Tony curses, pushes the driver’s door open and shoves himself over the gearshift onto the passenger seat. When Cap climbs in, Tony quickly thrusts his arms and knees out against the frame of the car to brace himself.

Cap hits the gas and they’re off, tires screeching. No gunshots, but Tony keeps low anyway. Cap fumbles with a hoodie pocket, bringing out a USB that he tosses over to Tony.

“Open it up,” Cap says.

“What, now?” Tony says. “Here?”

“They already know where we are. A beacon’s not going to change much.”

“Point.” Tony secures his phone halfway into a hoodie pocket, and pulls out a holographic screen and keyboard for ease of handling. “Okay JARVIS, fire up the decrypt key, we’re going in.”

It can be said that Tony works well under pressure, though it depends on the kind of pressure. Tony can’t say that he enjoys the challenge of breaking into a highly-protected data drive while in the middle of a literal car chase. He can’t even enjoy the sight of Cap sitting back straight, focused and cool even as he’s bringing the car up onto sidewalks, around sharp corners, and at one point a sudden reverse that almost gives Tony whiplash.

“Stark, how we doing?” Cap says, clipped.

“We are doing good, but the security on this thing is possibly the most dynamic code I’ve ever—”

“Actually, I was hoping if you could get my shield out for me.”

Tony stares. “It’s in the trunk!”

“Yeah, I know. The back seat opens up, right?”

“Oh my god. JARVIS, keep working it.” Tony clasps the phone between his teeth – no point risking it falling out – and climbs over the hand-rest into the back. He’s clumsier than he’d like, especially when Cap comes into another sudden stop, forcing a motorcycle that’s chasing them to swerve out of the way and hit a street light.

It takes some wrestling with the foldable seat, but Tony gets the shield out. He pulls and then pushes, and gets knocked around a little when Cap brings the car down a grassy incline into a near-dry stream bed.

“Stark, when I stop the car, I need you to run and take cover.”

“Oh boy,” Tony says. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Cap brings the car into a halt and practically jumps out, the shield flying before his feet even touch the ground. Tony gets out of the car on the opposite side, noting that they’re close to the town limits. Less buildings, more trees, very few civilians. Good place to make a stand against a handful of hostiles.

Said hostiles are more generous with the gunfire out here, though.

Tony runs, his hand clasped tight around the phone and connected USB. He stays low and rushes into the tree line.

How far is far enough for cover? Far enough that he can’t hear the fight? He’s not even sure how many people are after them. Five? Six? Tony recalls two cars and the motorcycle, but at least the motorcycle is out of commission.

Tony crouches between the undergrowth and brings the phone back out. JARVIS is still hard at it, but also interesting is how the security code streaming across the screen seems almost… angry. Inasmuch as code can read angry. Tony finds himself grinning as he pulls the data out, tossing it into back-up and out of the program’s reach.

Footsteps approach. Tony reaches under the hoodie to lock a few pieces of metal into place just under his shoulder. He hasn’t tested the rig outside of the workshop, but what’s a little field testing under fire?

A figure comes into view, and it’s the first familiar SHIELD face Tony’s seen thus far.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” Rumlow speaks in a low drawl, almost flirty. He has a gun out, but isn’t bothering to aim it properly. “Would’ve been nice if you came with us earlier, but this is fun, too.”

“A little fishing?” Tony says. “Tracking down the big one that got away?”

“You think that highly of yourself, do you?”

“I know, I’m just a glorified mechanic.” Tony throws the USB. “Catch!”

Rumlow starts to turn, but makes no move to go for it. Tony thinks – okay, the data is important but not critical – and the half-second distraction is all he needs to lift the rig up and fire.

Power thrums up Tony’s arm, erupting out from the center of his palm. This is highest setting he’s ever tried, and the recoil sends Tony flopping back on the ground, landing shocked and winded. Unfortunately his aim was also off, for Rumlow needed only to jerk sideways to avoid the power blast.

“Damn, son.” Rumlow whistles, appreciative of the glowing crater in a distant half-cracked tree. “That’s what all the fuss is about? How about you—”

Tony fires again, and this time gets Rumlow square in the chest. Rumlow’s thrown a good fifteen-twenty feet away, but that doesn’t mean he’s down for the count. These SHIELD guys – whether good or bad – are hardy motherfuckers.

“Yeah, reload times can be a bitch,” Tony mutters. He gets onto his feet, though he only makes it a couple of yards before he hears movement in the trees, this time from up above.

“Stark!” Cap calls out, nearby but not near enough. “They’ve got drones!”

“I see ‘em!” Tony shakes his arm to loosen his muscles. He hasn’t tested this repulsor prototype more than a handful of times and he doesn’t have a proper cooling system installed for it yet but, hey, what the hell.

Tony fires. Cap throws his shield. They carefully maneuver towards each other while watching each other’s backs. There are at least two more agents chasing them on the ground, and more than a dozen drones in the air. The latter seems like overkill when programming more than three drones to act in close proximity is a headache in itself, but these move fluidly in concert.

At least Tony’s aim is improving. He hits two drones and brings down one in its entirety, though for his ego’s sake he doesn’t compare his hit counts with Cap’s gravity-defying shield tosses. Tony also notes that the drones are shooting tranquilizer shots, which is at least marginally better than the actual bullets the agents are using.

“Is that…” Tony cranes his ears. “Is that a helicopter?”

“Yeah.” Cap sounds more exasperated than overwhelmed, which is comforting. “Maybe more than one.”

“I don’t know about you, but I feel really appreciated right now,” Tony says.

Cap shoots him a side-eye that seems almost fond. “How much power you got in that?”

There’s a metallic tang in Tony’s mouth, but the repulsor rig in his hand doesn’t feel anywhere near warm enough to indicate overload. “Don’t know. Never used it this much in one go.”

“Okay, then let’s make it count.” Cap leads them towards the edge of the tree line, overlooking the clearing along the stretch of dry stream bed. Tony can see the helicopters now – two of them, _hah_. “What’s the range?”

“Give me a sec, I’ll find out for you.” Tony lifts an arm along his sightline. Cap makes one more throw to take out another drone, and when he catches the shield he immediately brings it up to provide cover. Meanwhile, Cap’s other hand settles underneath Tony’s upright arm, adjusting his aim.

Tony’s neck tingles at the touch – _hello, inappropriate_ – but he makes himself focus on the target.

It would be nice if he took the helicopter out in one shot. However, he merely grazes the undercarriage of the closest one, causing both to immediately take evasive maneuvers. Tony curses, but Cap just takes off in a run that leads into a spinning throw of the shield.

There’s no way Cap can hit a helicopter with an arm’s throw, even if he had the full serum, which he doesn’t. But Tony’s confusion turns into understanding when he sees a shadow pass overhead – larger than a drone, smaller than a helicopter – which reveals itself to be a human being with non-organic wings strapped on their back.

Tony can’t see Falcon Cap’s face from here, but a silhouette is enough to have Tony on his feet and saying, “Oh man, you’re screwed now.”

Sure enough, Falcon Cap grabs the shield out of the air and completes the throw, straight into the first helicopter’s rotor blades. From there, it’s a clean sweep.

A part of Tony recognizes that he’s kind of the damsel-in-distress in this scenario, but when there are two Captain Americas in play, there’s no shame in parking his butt on the ground and shoot at leftover drones while the other two very buff, very professional men resolve the situation with near-clinical precision.

Actually, the timing’s really good. It’s getting a little difficult to breathe.

When it’s over, Tony gets up and steps into the clearing. Cap collects his shield, while Falcon Cap comes into a landing and folds his wings behind him. The two greet each other in an arm-clasp.

“Sorry,” Falcon Cap says. “I felt like being fashionably late.”

“Or right on time,” Cap says. “Rumlow, Rollins and Stewart are back there. How’s the leg?”

“Tough and kicking.” Falcon Cap nods at Tony. “Stark.”

“Good to see you back in the saddle, Cap,” Tony says. “Other Cap. Original Cap? See, this is what I meant about it being confusing.”

“I’m Cap,” Falcon Cap says matter-of-factly. “This guy’s Nomad.”

“Nomad?” Tony whirls on him. “Your callsign is _Nomad_?”

“Yeah, what of it?” Nomad Cap says.

“All right then,” Tony says. “I’m heading to the car.”

Nomad Cap takes a step towards him cautiously. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine, I just need my uh…” Tony clears his throat. He is feeling a little sweaty. “Just need my bag.”

“You go with him, I’ll check on the others,” Falcon Cap says. “Be quick, all right? We should get out of here in case they send a second wave.”

There’s probably more that they need to talk about, but Tony’s already walking away. The car seems a long distance off; did they really cover that much ground so quickly? Tony walks briskly but it seems to be taking forever, especially with Nomad Cap’s keeping pace without even breathing hard.

“Are you hurt?” Cap asks. “Dehydrated?”

“No, I just need, uh…” Tony licks his lips. The metallic taste really is getting stronger. “Okay, yeah liquids would be great, but mainly I need my bag, could you—”

Cap runs ahead at a clipped pace. Tony keeps walking, too, though he gives up when Cap gets the bag and starts running back to him.

Tony sits down on the ground and pushes the hoodie off his arms. Cap arrives with the bag already opened, so Tony shoves a hand in and pulls out the long reinforced case at the bottom. He pops the lid up, revealing a line of depressions, half of them containing the bright silver of palladium blocks.

It’s too late to feel self-conscious. Tony pulls his shirt up, all the way up over the arc reactor, and shoves the cloth into his teeth to hold it in place. He finds the clasp by touch, popping the arc reactor out, and ejects the used palladium core – a dark rust color by now. Cap, quick to understand, takes a fresh core from the box and puts it into the arc reactor, which Tony pops back into place.

Tony releases his shirt and waits. One breath after another, until the congestion in his chest eases.

Cap saw the cables that came out from the arc reactor, winding over Tony’s chest and up his arm to the repulsor rig.

“Is the power coming from your pacemaker?” Cap says.

Tony grunts.

“Because I don’t think pacemakers also function as batteries,” Cap continues. “Actually, that looks like an arc reactor. A miniaturized one.”

“You know what an arc reactor is?”

“I’ve been to your manufacturing plant in LA.”

“Wow. Smart.” Tony wipes a sleeve against his sweaty forehead. “Good for you.”

“It uses a palladium core. Palladium is soluble in body fat, with toxicity over—”

“_Good_ for _you_.” Tony sways to his feet. His shoves Nomad Cap’s helping hands away, and forces his back straight and shoulders up. Where the hell’s Falcon Cap?

“Stark—”

“Don’t start,” Tony snaps.

“Stark, are you—”

“What do you want me to say, huh?” Tony tries to glare at him, but he doesn’t manage it for long with the way Cap’s looking at him. “I’m handling it, okay.”

“How?” Cap says. “How are you handling it?”

Tony counts it off his fingers. “I’ve got SI on a new track. Pepper’s going to be CEO. All major projects that can’t be carried over have been moved into joint ventures. All my prototypes are going to SHIELD—”

“Stark!” Cap’s voice cracks, and that’s what does it.

Tony deflates. He stares off to the middle distance, which now has a view of the smoking remains of two helicopters. This is thematically appropriate, perhaps, since Tony’s carefully-built façade is going up in smoke as well. He enjoys talking about this even less than he does thinking about it, and he’s thought about it as little as possible. Sure, there’s always been a risk of getting caught red-handed, but he can’t say he thought it might be a Captain America who’d do it, let alone a Captain America he’s grown to really like.

“I should’ve died in that cave,” Tony says. “But I didn’t. The arc reactor gave me another eighteen months, maybe twenty-four. That’s more than most people get with a head’s up. I’m trying not to waste it.”

Then silence, for Cap has no reply. When Tony finally ventures a glance, Cap’s mouth is pressed tight together, and he’s staring at the same helicopter-barbeque view.

At long last, Cap says, “Did Fury know?”

“Yep. Cho, too, but that’s it. She’s been helping me with it, actually. Testing different cores, different designs. She’s also developing a new surgery technique but it’s still… It’ll probably not be ready in time. But it’ll help the next person, so that’s good.”

Cap moves jerkily, lifting a hand that he presses stiff and awkward on Tony’s shoulder. Tony smiles and pats that hand.

“It’s fine,” Tony says. “It’s not—” He’s cut off when Cap pulls him into an embrace.

Tony makes a sound of protest, but it’s automatic and half-hearted. The full-body contact is a sudden sensory overload: warmth and solidness and protection in the tight wrap of Cap’s arms.

Cap holds him, and keeps holding him, as though the sheer force of his hug will make Tony… what? Be okay? Because he’s already okay, he’s been okay all this while. There’s no point stopping Cap, though, since he’s determined to do this. So Tony lets him, and maybe closes his eyes, and maybe gives in to it by letting his head forward to rest on Cap’s shoulder. Tony can feel the Kevlar scales through his shirt, and Cap smells of sweat and smoke and something – _something_ familiar – though it doesn’t diminish the effect of the act itself.

Cap’s hand comes up to rest on the back of Tony’s neck, squeezing gently. It rattles something loose in Tony – something that has perhaps been working its way loose for a while.

Okay, so Tony’s dying. He’s dying slowly and has been scrambling to find ways to not leave behind a world that’s worse than the one he came into, if possible. He’s dying and kinda scared and achingly lonely, and that last part is wholly his fault – both by accident and by design. There are only so many people in the world who’d care about this to begin with, and those who _do _care, he didn’t want to find out because it’s hard enough having to deal with his issues without having them stomping around and muddying the waters.

But… isn’t it nice that someone found out anyway? Sure, this is just more evidence of Tony’s needy as hell, but it is really, _really_ nice that this guy, who hasn’t known Tony for very long and whom Tony doesn’t even know the name of but kinda really likes, cares so much.

Tony sighs wistfully, and Cap’s arms tighten around him. This hug sure has been going on for a while.

“Oh hey,” Falcon Cap says, from somewhere behind Tony. “We doing a grouphug?”

New pressure comes up against Tony’s back when Falcon Cap joins in, his arms smacking dramatically around both Tony and Nomad Cap. Tony huffs a laugh when Falcon Cap bounces a little, snapping the tension into easier relief.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Tony wriggles free. He looks at Falcon Cap first, because that’s easier, and does a quick checklist of his suit, gear and wings. Everything seems in order.

“Y’all ready to get out of here?” Falcon Cap says.

Tony finally ventures a glance at Nomad Cap. The guy’s looking at Tony as though he’d never ever bothered looking anywhere or at anyone else.

“Yeah,” Nomad Cap says. “Where to?”

+

They flee the scene in Nomad Cap’s car, and pick up Falcon Cap’s motorcycle where he left it before convoying to a safehouse. Falcon Cap leads the way on his motorcycle while Nomad Cap and Tony follow in the car, but thanks to the magic of comms earpieces and portable speakers, they have a cross-vehicle conversation to catch up.

Nomad Cap tells Falcon Cap about Alexander Pierce, the attempt to kidnap Tony to DC, and Winter Cap’s drop of the USB before his capture. Falcon Cap tells them that he and Maria Hill have broken Winter Cap out, which is how he also learned about the USB drop, and came over to collect it himself.

“_Oh, and they’re Hydra_,” Falcon Cap says.

Nomad Cap taps the portable speaker he’d stuck on the dashboard. “Say again?”

“_Hydra_.” Falcon Cap, who’s a couple of yards ahead of their car, lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers in the air. A tentacle-ish gesture, presumably. “_Rumlow did the fuckin’ hail in Winter’s face when they thought they had him._”

“Hydra as in Peggy Carter’s mortal enemies Hydra?” Tony says.

“_Off-shoot or copycat or legacy, we don’t know yet_,” Falcon Cap says. “_But that’s the name they’re going by._”

“Carter is definitely turning in the ice right about now,” Tony says.

“If Pierce is involved, we have to consider he called the hit on Fury,” Nomad Cap says.

“_Yeah, I have trouble buying that anyone can use Pierce as a puppet_,” Falcon Cap says. “_Knowing what we do, they’re going to come after us with everything they have._”

“You have a plan?” Nomad Cap says.

“_Safehouse first._”

“Okay,” Tony says quickly, “I am obligated to mention that I have yet to go through all the files I got off the drive, but I’m pretty sure that they – Hydra, apparently – have a highly-dynamic, terrifyingly-advanced AI back in New Jersey. I’d put money on that location being a base or server hub.”

“_You got coordinates?_”

“A nice spot for a picnic. That’s a yes,” Tony says.

“_They know we know_?”

Tony sighs. “Afraid so.”

“_Okay, so we stick to the safehouse_,” Falcon Cap says. “_Hydra messed up because they panicked, rushed ahead. We’re not gonna do that._”

“Aye, Cap,” Tony says.

Falcon Cap laughs, the sound crackling through the car’s speakers. “_Okay. You’ve been takin’ good care of my tech guy, right, Nomad?_”

“Not that he makes the ‘taking care’ part easy,” Nomad Cap says.

“_You know what, we can hash out a timeshare_.”

Tony notices the way that Nomad Cap looks over, his eyes darting from the road to Tony and back. Maybe anxious, maybe worried. Tony feared that Nomad Cap would get all stifling and overbearing after finding out about the arc reactor, let alone what the arc reactor means, but that hasn’t happened yet. Instead all of Nomad Cap’s intensity has centered on hanging back and observing, watching, scrutinizing. Tony feels like he should mind this, or at the very least feel more self-conscious than he is.

“Timeshare?” Tony prompts.

“The plan was, uh.” Nomad Cap coughs to clear his throat. “The original plan was that each Cap has their own tech person. Since Falcon’s back in action…”

“Oh.” Tony’s stomach drops a little, but only a little. Okay, not _only _a little, but this makes sense and is best for the long run. “You got someone else lined up already?”

“_You can still change your mind, you know. You and Stark seem to have a good thing going, and I told you that I’m cool going back to—”_

“You _asked_ for another tech guy to replace me?” Tony says in disbelief. “Wow.”

“That was before…” Nomad glances at him again. “Before.”

“That doesn’t actually change anything.”

“I think it changes a lot.”

“’Cause you’ll outlive me, and you can change tech guy then?”

Nomad Cap doesn’t reply. A cheap jab, but Tony’s not going to feel guilty about it, not even with the way Nomad Cap’s knuckles go white around the steering wheel.

“_Okay, I’m signing off right now. You guys… whatever._” There’s a click as Falcon Cap’s side of the radio is switched off.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” Nomad Cap says, low and tense, “but your well-being is important to me.”

“That’s nice,” Tony says.

“Not just because of the work you do for SHIELD, or whatever other useful role you believe you owe the world.”

“Which explains why you were gonna drop me like a hot potato.”

“That’s…” Nomad Cap grits his teeth. “You’re the best tech person we have. Of course I’d rather that Falcon has full access to you.”

“That is almost convincing,” Tony says with a grin. He feels lighter and freer, which is an unexpected side effect from both Caps knowing the worst of it. It’s not that Tony enjoys seeing Nomad Cap stew in his own angst juices, but the guy did kind of bring it on himself by being too sharp for his own good. “Hey, relax. You have your top-secret SHIELD reasons for not wanting to work with me anymore, it’s fine.”

“You keep saying that,” Nomad Cap says in exasperation.

“You’re right. I’m not fine. I’m hungry, and I actually do need some liquids. Sports drinks are good.”

Tony’s even telling the truth, but it’s very gratifying to see how Nomad Cap straightens up and checks the outside signage – a soldier on a fresh mission.

“You need to tell your loved ones,” Nomad Cap says. “Potts, Rhodey—”

“I’m definitely taking advice from you,” Tony says.

“You think you’re helping them by shutting them out, but it’s going to make matters worse. They’re going to wonder – could they have helped, could they have done something? And it’ll mess them up even more. Stark, I’m serious. Stark, are you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony stares out the window. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” Nomad Cap says, which is possibly the angriest yet genuine ‘thank you’ Tony’s ever heard in his life.

At least this portion of the trip is smooth-going. Nobody’s trailing them, nobody attacks them, and the only trouble to be faced is their attempts to find food and bathroom breaks, and also Nomad Cap’s grim seething over everything.

+

The safehouse Falcon Cap brings them to is also a literal house. Tony thinks they might be closer to Baltimore by now; he stopped paying attention to landmarks once he got some caffeine in and dived into JARVIS’s data haul.

The three of them talked some more during the rest of the drive, but Falcon Cap seemed reticent to get into too much detail of what he knows and wants to do next, citing a full discussion that they’ll have once they get to their destination.

Tony finds out why when they enter the safehouse. Nomad Cap goes in first, Tony second, and Falcon Cap brings up the rear.

Nomad Cap’s barely a couple of feet inside the house when he stops dead in his tracks. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he says.

The house has the appearance of a regular domicile. A foyer, an open living area, a kitchen off to the side, a corridor that appears to lead off into bedrooms. It’s simple and clean, though the cleanliness leans more to lack of use rather than regular care. In the living area there’s a couch, coffee table and a couple of chairs facing a TV that is switched on.

Maria Hill is sitting in one of the chairs, and Nick Fury is in another.

“Captains,” Fury says.

“Oh wow,” Tony says. “Yeah, okay.”

Nomad Cap shoots Tony a disbelieving look. “That’s it? Yeah, _okay_?” He turns to Falcon Cap next. “You didn’t think to say anything?”

“For exactly this reason,” Falcon Cap says. “I wasn’t gonna let you get mad at _me_.”

A third person – another large-ish man also dressed in red, white and blue, but with an uncovered head and dark hair that’s long enough to curl around his ears – comes out from the back at a brisk half-run that slows abruptly when he realizes that he’d missed the fun. “Damn it,” he says.

The three Captain Americas look at each other, and exchange manly nods of acknowledgement and confirmation.

Tony points at him. “Other Cap.”

Winter Cap’s face twists, and he nonchalantly starts to pull the cowl up from where it’s hanging behind his suit, but seems to realize that it’s a lost cause and drops it with a shrug.

“I get faking your death,” Nomad Cap says to Fury, “but not bringing us in on it?”

“Couldn’t be sure who to trust,” Fury says. “And now that the Director’s dead, long live the Director.”

“You made Hydra show their hand.” Nomad Cap shoots Winter Cap a look. “You knew Fury was gonna make this play?”

“Hell no,” Winter Cap says. “Bad enough that he let me get grabbed by Hydra for the sake of keeping his cover.”

“We got you out, didn’t we?” Hill says.

“Yeah, _eventually_,” Winter Cap says.

The SHIELD conference erupts into passion, but Tony’s attention is diverted by a buzzing in his pocket. JARVIS only knows to contact him in an emergency, so he draws away from the circle of noise and lifts the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“_Sir,_” JARVIS says._ “There’s currently a physical attempt to break into the sub-basement workshop_.”

“Okay.” Tony speaks up, loud enough for the others to hear: “Lockdown the sub-basement, my elevator, the penthouse. All security locks from below, blinds up above. Soft attacks?”

“_Thus far not a challenge, sir. But they are attempting to cut through with a very large plasma torch._”

“Yeah, that’ll still take them about fifty years.” Tony checks his watch. “Okay, it’s almost the end of the workday. Give Rushman and security the head’s up, we’re clearing the building.”

Hill rises to her feet with a frown. “They’re going after the Tower?” When Tony affirms this, Hill pulls out her phone and quickly taps away.

“Who’ve you got?” Nomad Cap says.

“Coulson and a few of his own,” Hill says. “They can hold the Tower.”

“What’s Hydra after?” Tony says.

Fury points. “That.”

There’s only one reason for Fury to draw attention to Tony’s chest. Thanks to Rumlow’s comment earlier in the woods, Tony’s not all that surprised by this. Disappointed, annoyed and fearful, yes. But not surprised.

Tony holds a hand up so he can keep talking to JARVIS. “Split all archives into the blocks,” he says into this phone, while the others discuss options on manpower, firepower, etc. “And tell Pep what’s up.”

“_Very good, sir,_” JARVIS says. “_Evacuation has begun and security have been informed. However, I wish to note that by all outward appearances, there is nothing of interest happening to the Tower itself. The illicit activity is purely underground.”_

“Let’s keep it that way. Keep me posted.” Tony puts his phone down, just as Hill is relaying orders into her own phone. There’s more conversation – Falcon Cap’s concerned about sending the only other allies they have to one location – but Tony’s half-listening.

The fact is, Tony should be at the Tower. He has perfectly good reasons why he isn’t, but all those people, and the building itself, and the projects in the process of blooming – they’re all his responsibility, and he should be there Kevin McAllister-ing in its defense. Tony opens his phone to pull up the Tower’s security reads, but he does this very carefully, just to be sure that he doesn’t crack the screen out of sheer burning frustration.

Was it the right decision to ask Pepper to get away? She’d know what to do, and how to protect the Tower. No, no, it’s right that she’s gone. Tony doesn’t know what he’d do if Hydra got hold of her. It’s good that Happy’s gone, too.

From there, Tony’s thoughts slip down that track a little further. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, of course, but there are some people he thinks about somewhat more than others, and there’s a guy. A guy he’s been thinking about quite a bit lately, even if the situation is somewhat complicated and Tony isn’t sure if he even still likes him anymore. And now Tony has to think about this guy alongside some brand new SHIELD-Hydra-related information.

“Who’d you tell about the arc reactor?” Tony says.

The question cuts through the current conversation, and everyone turns in his direction, Fury included. Fury’s on his feet now, too, though he’s in a turtleneck and jeans instead of the usual trench, so he only looks about 80% of his usual intimidating.

“No one,” Fury says.

Tony raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Really? ‘Cause until today, I’ve only told two people, one of whom is in this room and – oh geez, is Helen working for Hydra?”

“Not Helen,” Fury says dryly. “But you told three people, not two.”

Tony frowns, then sighs. “Obie?”

“Not sure if he was Hydra, but he was definitely working with them,” Fury says.

“Why are they interested in the arc reactor?” Nomad Cap asks.

“Same reason Stane was,” Fury says. “Revolutionary power source, finally made practical. They need it for the hellicarriers.”

Tony sighs again. “They’re after continuous sub-orbital flight?”

“The goal’s zero touchdown once in the air,” Fury says. “Your arc reactor is just about the only thing capable of doing that _and _powering all the weapons they want to load those ‘carriers with _and _has minimum hull volume demand. But for shame, you were too slow.”

“Excuse me?” Tony says.

“You’d miniaturized it, but then… stopped,” Fury says. “Didn’t connect the dots the way they wanted you to.”

“Yeah, because it’s—” _killing me_, Tony doesn’t say. “Because it’s not sustainable. I would’ve used it for the Tower if it were.”

“Sustainability?” Fury echoes. “Not a Hydra priority. Fact is, I’ve been under pressure for quite some time now – first to get you as a consultant, then push you for more and more, but those that were doing the pushing couldn’t ask for the arc reactor itself, ‘cause they’re not supposed to know about it. The hellicarrier jacking a while back? Part of an exercise to get rid of the old model and inspire you for the new designs.”

“Okay, yeah,” Tony says, running a hand over his face, “fuck everything.”

“So, what,” Falcon Cap says, “they think they can break into the Tower, steal his blueprints? They should know Stark wouldn’t leave ‘em lying around.”

“Their timeline got shortened,” Winter Cap says. “Fury’s investigation got too close, forced them to throw everything they’ve got, hoping for a hit. Now they’re coming out into the open, so they gotta go for broke.”

“They _are_ in the open,” Hill says. “Pierce has taken control of the Triskelion.”

“Have they been sending people to, uh…” Tony coughs. “Have they been sending people after me?”

“Pierce was the first attempt to nab you,” Fury says. “As far as I know. Why?”

“There’s…” Tony fumbles with his phone just a bit. He pulls up the CV he’d asked JARVIS to get for him, along with the other logs. There’s a photo of Stevens at the top – a headshot in full color. Tony practically skips the handful of steps towards Fury, his heart hammering a little, and thrusts the phone at him. “Do you know this guy? Is he one of… I don’t know. Is he Hydra? Do you know?”

Fury’s eye moves down to Tony’s phone screen, and back up. The fact that said eye doesn't linger for more than a half-second has Tony’s nerves kicking up a couple of notches. It’s even worse when Fury next says, “I suggest that you sit down.”

“A yes or no would suffice,” Tony says. “You know this guy, don’t you?”

“Sit, Stark.”

“I’d rather—” Tony’s surprised into silence when Fury takes Tony’s forearm in a firm grip. He pointedly but not roughly guides Tony over to sit in one of the chairs.

“Okay,” Tony says slowly. Bad news, then. The Stevens situation is even worse than he thought. It doesn’t explain Stevens’s seeming change of heart towards the end there, so maybe some Hydra agents have consciences. “Okay. Hit me. Just – yeah.”

But Fury doesn’t say anything. He backs off, and so does Hill and two of the Captains. They walk away as if they’re connected by string, a single group moving in a deliberate journey past the dining area and through the doorway into the kitchen. Behind the kitchen door that flaps shut, the group resume talking, their voices businesslike but now muffled.

This is doing nothing for his imagination. Tony stares at his knees, braced for whatever bad news Nomad Cap is about to share. He hears rustling just by his right shoulder, where Nomad Cap – the only one not to follow the others – is lowering himself down into a crouch-kneel beside his chair.

“Stark,” Nomad Cap says. Then, softer, “Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s head snaps up. He turns, his neck so stiff it seems to need a good slathering of WD40, and looks to his right.

Stevens is here. His Stevens, Stark Industries’ Stevens, Rushman’s assistant. There’s the fair hair, the sharp cheekbones, the eyebrows that swoop at a slanted angle when he’s worried. But he has blue eyes now.

Tony’s gaze drops a little lower to where Stevens’s neck leads into the top of Nomad Cap’s suit, with the rounded collar and dark blue reinforced kevlar. It’s not like Tony needs to see the suit to understand – he’s smart, he can join the dots. He needed to look anyway.

The skin of Tony’s cheeks and neck burn hot. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He turns away to the floor, the television, then to the closed kitchen door.

“Stark, I’m sorry—” Nomad Cap says.

Tony jerks away from him, stands up, and marches for the kitchen. There is roaring in his ears, which has the bonus effect of drowning out the next few times that Nomad Cap calls out his name.

Tony shoves the kitchen door open. The others are gathered around a narrow kitchen table, but their conversation dies at the sight of Tony.

“This doesn’t confirm that he’s _not_ Hydra,” Tony says.

It’s hard to read Fury’s face. “You can’t confirm that anyone here isn’t Hydra, either. We only have our actions to speak for us.”

Tony nods; not because he agrees, but because it gives him a thing to do. It does not help that Nomad Cap – or whoever the hell he is – has followed him into the kitchen and is standing silently in a corner just at the edge of Tony’s vision, where Tony doesn’t have to look at him.

“Nick,” Tony barks. “Explain this. Right now. If you don’t mind.”

“Security,” Fury says. “You’re one of mine, Stark. And I look out for my people.”

Tony sputters. “You couldn’t have _asked_?”

“Would you accept?” Fury says.

“Don’t give me that!” Tony snaps. “You’re a spy, and you sent a spy. This was spying. You—” He feels horrified prickles run up his arms, and rubs at them restlessly, “—you put him there, it didn’t have to be _him_, not when I’m doing his gear—”

“His _orders_,” Fury says meaningfully, his eye swinging to Stevens-Nomad, “—were to monitor the Tower’s security and watch over you from a distance. That was all.”

“Oh.” Tony slants a look at Stevens-Nomad, who’s staring at the floor. “So you _are_ shit at following orders.”

“Yes,” is Stevens-Nomad’s quiet answer.

“This is, this is…” Tony is trying to breathe calmly, but all he can manage are tight gasps. The fact that Hill and the other two Caps are here should at least make him want to dial it back, but he can’t. “You could’ve said something. Today, yesterday!”

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” Stevens-Nomad says. “I needed to get you somewhere safe first.”

“_Then_ you would’ve told me?” Tony says.

“I…” Stevens-Nomad shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

Tony puts his hands on his face and snarls.

The kitchen falls quiet. The awkwardness stretches out the long seconds, which are rounded up by Fury’s sigh, and Hill’s going to the fridge to get a drink.

“So,” Falcon Cap says, a little too loudly. “Stark, if you want to sit out the mission—”

“Give me a goddamned minute,” Tony says into his hands, his voice muffled. A touch on his arm makes him start, and he pulls his hands down to see Hill offering him a drink. It’s probably not alcohol, but there’s ice and it’s in a glass, so he takes it and drinks.

“Is this why you guys are still wearing the masks?” Winter Cap says. “What? I’m just asking.”

“Oh hey,” Falcon Cap, voice soft with realization. “Is that why you asked to switch tech crews with me?”

“That would’ve been a better suggestion if it’d come earlier,” Fury says. “You don’t get soft on your techies.”

“To be fair,” Falcon Cap says, “Stark’s not my type.”

“And my techperson’s fifteen,” Winter Cap adds helpfully.

“Hoshit, really?” Falcon Cap turns to Winter Cap. “I thought you had Hammer?”

“Didn’t work out,” Winter Cap says.

“Wait,” Tony says, dragged out of his shocked stupor by that name of all names. “Don’t tell me you mean Hammer as in Justin Hammer.”

“Not my finest moment,” Fury admits.

“We need to rescue him, by the way,” Hill says. “When Pierce couldn’t get Stark, they took him instead.”

“Oh.” Tony shakes his head, trying to get the mess in there untangled. “Wait, no, this is, wait.”

Tony closes his eyes and breathes. What was that calming exercise Rhodey sent him the video for that one time? Actually, just thinking about Rhodey’s unimpressed face helps. Rhodey could probably take Stevens-Nomad in a fistfight. Yes, that is definitely calming.

There is a critical crisis at hand. There is a need for prioritization and focus. Tony knows this, so he cannot afford to think about how he’s been telling Nomad Cap all sorts of things that he hasn’t even told Rhodey, and a subset of those are things he’d told Nomad Cap about _Stevens_, which Nomad Cap definitely would have recognized. Surprise, they’re the same person! Surprise, it wasn’t just Stevens fucking around with him; Nomad Cap was, too.

So. Stevens-Nomad knows that Tony’s a liar and melodramatic bitch and an easy lay (to be fair, these things are somewhat common knowledge), but he also knows a bunch of Tony’s worst fears because Tony is a fucking _genius_ who gets hyperfixated on the only and exact people who’ve been playing him from the very start. Though in this case two separate people turned out to be the same one.

Bright side: Stevens-Nomad hasn’t tried to rip the arc reactor out with his bare hands, unlike certain other people. That’s a step up.

Tony sways back, his hip knocking against the counter just behind him. He puts the drink glass down with a slightly shaky hand, and pulls the hood of the hoodie he’s wearing over his head and draws it shut around his face. It’s just an illusion of a privacy cocoon, but he might as well try to trick his brain into buying it.

Whatever fucking wrathful humiliation Tony’s got burning inside of him right now, it’s not a priority. It’s not _important._ Focus on the work.

“Stark?” Fury says.

“Yeah, continue,” Tony says, voice muffled. “Hydra. Get a plan. Save the world. I’m listening.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have utterly failed to keep up with comments, but please know I love and appreciate all of them, and all of you. ♥

They narrow down their plan of attack. They’re going to SHIELD HQ, in order to apprehend Pierce and as many of the known Hydra agents on site, and bust their control of the agency wide open. Pierce and Sitwell have by this time put out a neat narrative of how the three Captain Americas have gone rogue and are suspected to be behind the hit on Fury; it’s unlikely to be widely believed, which means the likely culling of dissenters, and moving around of the Hydra agents who are already there to help entrench the new party line.

“You’re going to need evidence,” Tony says. “The hit list I got off the USB is pretty good.”

“They have a hit list?” Falcon Cap says.

“It’s dynamic – still compiling,” Tony says. “The way it connects with the satellites, it looks like they were going to upload it onto the hellicarriers once they’re ready.”

Everyone’s gathered in the safehouse’s dining room now, some of them sitting, some standing. Falcon Cap has joined the non-cowl party by removing his own (and Tony _has _met him before, when he came to the Tower as a visitor, but he hadn’t done anything so nefarious as to pretend to be Tony’s friend, so Tony can’t hold it against him), while Stevens-Nomad is a vague blur somewhere off to Tony’s left, which Tony doesn’t have to acknowledge in any way because he’s pulled the drawstring of his hood tight around most of his face and topped off the look with his sunglasses.

Everyone knows better than to comment on Tony’s fashion choice.

There are a couple of laptops on the table. Two are in front of Tony, courtesy of Hill, and he’s used them to connect with his phone and JARVIS. The data he’d pulled from the USB drive scrolls up the screens, which Tony turns so that Fury can see it.

“But they can still use it without the hellicarriers,” Fury says. “If they wanted to.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Tony says.

“That’s why we need two groups,” Fury says. “One for the Triskelion, the other for Lehigh. We take ‘em both at the same time.”

They’ve pinpointed the Hydra AI’s origin to Camp Lehigh – Peggy Carter’s old stomping ground. Winter Cap insists that there’s barely anything there beyond dust and history, but that just makes it a useful key hiding place, especially for a fascistic organization that’s been hiding inside SHIELD’s workings for almost sixty years.

“If there’s a base there, it’s going to be heavily guarded,” Hill says. “They have to assume that we know it’s there. We can’t afford to split.”

“What about a virtual attack,” Falcon Cap says. “If Hydra’s working from the Triskelion, there must be connections to the Lehigh AI.”

“The hellicarriers,” Stevens-Nomad says. “If the hit list is going to be uploaded there, the computers must have a direct connection.”

“Even if it’s not live, the hardware must be in place by now,” Fury says, agreeing. “Can you do it, Stark? If we get you to a hellicarrier?”

“Yeah.” Tony’s already typing out new commands into the laptop. He can’t say he’s comfortable with JARVIS getting up close and personal with SHIELD-based code, but there’s only so much leveling up he can do via his phone, especially with the Tower’s servers cut off for safety. “JARVIS, how’d you feel if I asked you to take a hit on another AI?”

“_I cannot say that I have such protocols in my database, sir_.”

“Then let’s get you geared up,” Tony says.

A lot of the rest of the discussion doesn’t have much to do with Tony. The others talk about tactics, firepower, weak points in the Triskelion, and how to minimize collateral damage. Tony’s mostly thinking about how much physical server space the Lehigh AI would need to exist, judging from their brief encounter, and how quickly it can escape if it needs to. Tony and JARVIS will need to cut off both virtual and physical routes of escape.

“Oh hey,” Tony says softly, only addressing JARVIS. “Those drones. The AI probably controlled them, right? Let’s get a hijack subroutine going.”

“Stark,” Fury says.

Tony looks up. “Yeah.”

“Overdue, but.” Fury jerks a thumb from one to the other. “Sam Wilson. James Barnes. Steve Rogers.”

Wilson, Barnes and Rogers. Sounds like the name of a small-town carpentry shop.

“Yeah, okay.” Tony has to press his lips together to prevent himself from saying out loud: ‘_Steve Rogers’, are you fucking serious? You couldn’t be trusted to remember a proper alias or what?_ But that would open an actual conversation. “Anything else?” he says instead.

“Natalie Rushman’s mine, too,” Fury says. “Her real name’s Natasha Romanoff.”

Tony takes a deep breath and holds it. He’s aware that with the glasses on and the hood drawn tight that Fury can’t see his face, but Tony glares at him anyway.

“Yeah, that fits,” Tony says sharply. He _had_ been wondering about that last conversation he had with her on the phone, and her lack of urgency regarding Stevens’s true identity despite knowing about Tony’s work with SHIELD. But also: that’s why Stevens got to be her PA, that’s why she’s been so helpful with his random-sounding requests, and that’s why she said that Stevens is a ‘good man’. Tony says, “But please tell me that Pepper and Rhodey are not—”

“No,” Fury says. “They’re all yours. Hogan, too.”

“—because that would be the longest con, and also _no, fucking thank you_.”

“She and Coulson’s team will keep the Tower safe,” Hill says. “She’s one of the best.”

“If she’s one of the best she’d be a Captain America,” Tony says. “Three dudes and no ladies, after Peggy Carter’s paving the way? Come on.”

“She said no,” Wilson says. “I’m working on it.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Anything else?”

“Just the one,” Fury says. “I used to date your mom.”

Tony chokes.

“Sorry, no, that last one’s lie,” Fury says. “Did meet your mom a couple of times, though. Nice lady.”

Tony clutches at his chest and gasps. The hood makes it slightly tricky to get full gulps of air, but he’s committed to this aesthetic now. “That’s mean,” he says. “That’s a mean thing, Nicholas J. Fury.”

It is mean, but the inappropriate humor – usually Tony’s thing – snaps the growing tension in the room. Even Tony can admit that that was necessary. Oh, he’s still mad at Fury, but he can already tell that he’ll make peace with it soon enough; expecting Fury not to have invasive paranoia is very scorpion-and-frog. Tony can’t let the mess in his head disrupt what needs to be done.

“How long will it take to get your programs ready?” Hill says.

“A couple of hours,” Tony says. “Would be faster, but compiling takes a while on these.”

“You want to hit them at night?” Wilson says. “I’m game.”

“You’re always game,” Barnes says.

There’s more discussion, then a dispersal as everyone goes to collect gear and/or sustenance. Tony stays parked at the dining table, hard at work that’s helping him shove his emotions away and into a background simmer.

For the most part, anyway. Contemplation of collective flight vector programming can only distract so much from thoughts of how Stevens used that _idiotic _breathy voice around him, as a deliberate contrast from Nomad Cap’s rugged growl, and Tony fell for it.

Tony fell for a lot of things. This is all the more galling when he looks back and sees all the signs that he missed. All those strange moments, the déjà vu he couldn’t place, the little gestures and tones that sat wrong but not wrong enough. Tony should have questioned Nomad Cap’s attempts at bonding.

Though a small voice at the back of Tony’s head reminds him: but _he knew_ that Nomad Cap had another identity. He was well aware of the risk in telling Nomad Cap the things he did, and he accepted that he’d never really know the guy on a personal level and thus would never be sure what Nomad Cap would do with what he knew. What does it matter that Nomad Cap’s turned out to also be Stevens?

It matters, because Tony was working with the assumption that Nomad Cap’s agenda was clear and open: that they both worked for SHIELD, that Tony was to help Nomad Cap be the best he could be, and that they could be maybe-friends within the confines of that relationship. But instead, Nomad Cap had a whole other agenda that, if Tony had known about it, would have limited how much he would’ve shared; much like how knowing about Rudy Stevens’s whole agenda would’ve prevented Tony from trying to climb him like a tree.

The other problem with the Stevens-Cap-Rogers issue is – aside from the built-in betrayal – is how much Tony enjoyed being around him. Both of him. Unlike Tony’s memories of Stane, which are rife with manipulative grossness that’s still upsetting to recall – now that Tony has the language to express what Stane did – Tony’s memories of Stevens and Nomad Cap are just… nice. Sure, Tony didn’t spend _that_ much accumulated time with both of Rogers’ façades, but those moments were still bright spots in his day-to-day – comfortable and pleasurable and quietly exciting, albeit in different ways.

Tony thinks of all this as he works. He thinks of it through Barnes’s putting coffee and a sandwich on the table for him, and he thinks of it as he gets up and goes hunting for a bathroom – down the hallway, on the right – and takes a piss.

Of course, luck has it that Tony comes out of the bathroom (hood off, sunglasses still on) just as Rogers is walking past. Rogers jumps a little when he sees Tony (a Stevens move) but nods an acknowledgement (a Cap move) and keeps walking.

Tony could just move past Rogers like a proper adult, but adrenaline and a backlog of sensory memories – Stevens’s hands on his sides holding him tight, Nomad Cap’s hand adjusting Tony’s aim, Nomad Cap’s really awesome hug – have Tony spinning around on a heel.

“I don’t get it,” Tony says. Rogers stops walking and turns back, the slow tilt of his head calling to mind a golden retriever. (He’s so much more animated than ‘Stevens’ was, Tony realizes. Not in a comical, rubber-face way, but with fine muscle tics and flickers underneath his ridiculously bright eyes, as though some leash under his skin has been released.) “Did you want to test your honeypot technique or what?”

“No, of course not, no,” Rogers says quickly. “I was only supposed to keep an eye—”

“Yeah, but you didn’t, so – why? What’d you get out of it? I mean, you didn’t get orgasms, that’s for sure.”

Rogers’s face spasms. Tony wonders if Rogers has been making this face under the cowl, or if he’d been stiff-jawing his way throughout. Also interesting is how the helmet’s chin strap _really_ changed the shape of his jaw, making it just that much trickier for Tony to put two and two together.

“If I see an unfair situation, I can’t ignore it,” Rogers says. “Sometimes you’re… pretty unfair to yourself.”

“Wow,” Tony says. “Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

“You don’t have to believe me.”

“Obviously.” Tony should walk away. He _should_, but he’s compelled to stand his ground and pull out as many of Rogers’s facial expressions of supposed agony and distress, and compare them to the limited and apparently _fake_ album Tony has in his head of Stevens’s and Nomad Cap’s reactions. “I don’t have to believe a single thing you say, but I ask, because I’m a glutton for punishment. A suggestion, though – you weren’t working at it hard enough. I just happen to be easy.”

“I wasn’t trying to sleep with you!” Rogers hisses.

“Really? Okay, I have no idea what counts as flirting these days, I guess.”

“It wasn’t…” Rogers releases a warbling exhale. “Yes, there was some… I am attracted to you, but I didn’t think it would… You flirt with everyone, and there are beautiful people around you all the time! I was just some guy, some guy you saw around sometimes, all I did was… I just brought you coffee.”

“Like I said,” Tony says flatly. “I’m easy.”

“I didn’t know,” Rogers says, eyes scrunched shut. “I didn’t know how much you needed someone to see you. To _really_ see you.”

“Diva, yep,” Tony says, though his voice sounds distant to his ears. “That’s me.”

But not since SHIELD rescued him, which is the problem. Tony’s always thrived on attention, on being flashy and out there and being seen, but he came back changed and wanting to shed that old skin but having little idea on who he could be to replace that. Who is he, when he’s not Tony Stark, flashy silver-spoon-in-mouth weapons manufacturer legacy figure? It didn’t seem worthwhile to figure out an answer, not when the question was asked almost as soon as Tony found out that he’d be dead soon.

So Tony shrunk back on himself, away from Pepper and Rhodey, and into the work. He kept himself busy, hoping to accomplish something worthwhile in the time he had left.

Rogers is right. Tony was wilting inside, and there was Rogers, ready to give.

“You didn’t earn it,” Tony says. “You saw, but only because you were there twice over—”

“I know,” Rogers says, nodding rapidly. “I know.”

“If you knew, why did you keep…” Tony flaps a hand in the air, a vague gesture at everything Rogers’s done over the past day and a half. “Why’d you keep coming at me? Telling me all about your childhood, about Barnes…”

“I just wanted to spend time with you,” Rogers says, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’d resigned from SI and I was going to change over with Sam, so it was my last… This was the last chance I’d ever have to just be around you, and I thought… No.” Rogers shakes his head, though the action’s directed more at himself than at Tony. “That’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Tony agrees. “But it’s okay, I won’t be around to make you feel bad for much longer.”

Rogers pales.

Okay, that was too much. Even brimming with anger, Tony can recognize that that was a quip too far, but it’s too late, he’s already said it, and in response Roger rears up, stares at nothing, and walks away.

+

Most of the rest of the evening involves discussion, prep work, and a surprising amount of arguing between people who are not Tony. All the months of Tony’s curiosity on how SHIELD operates during missions finally gets satiated some, and in that satiation is the confirmation that even intelligence agency operatives have tempers and get tetchy when they disagree. But there’s the camaraderie, too – the slick smooth ways they bounce off each other and complete ideas together – that’s interesting, too. Tony’s not much of a team player, but it’s nifty to observe from the outside.

In these few hours, Rogers moves in and out of the discussion, but stays clear of Tony. This is good, because Tony doesn’t want to deal with him anymore, but this is also bad, because Tony is steadily accumulating pent-up energy that has no outlet thanks to Rogers's not making himself available for a lashing. At this rate, Tony’s going to have to channel all his energy into obliterating the enemy AI.

Said pent-up energy, of course, is coming from Tony’s gathering data of Steve Rogers _being_ _Steve Rogers_. The way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he blusters like a champ when the other two Caps rip into him.

“The shield doesn’t count,” Wilson is saying. The Caps are gearing up on the far side of the living room, and their voices travel just enough that Tony can hear them from the dining area. “My right wing has more firepower than your whole set-up. How’d they even let you get away with that?”

“He has a point,” Barnes says. “Your policy sucks, Steve.”

Rogers crosses his arms. (Which Tony has seen him do many times, but where Cap used to hold himself still and stiff, Rogers fidgets and twitches and rolls his eyes dramatically.) “You have seen what I can do with the shield, right?” Rogers says. “It _is_ my offense.”

“How many times have you dropped it?” Wilson asks.

“The real question is,” Rogers counters, “how many times have I dropped it and not been able to get it back? Zero.”

“No,” Wilson drawls, “the real question is – what do you do in the lull time? Between the throw and the catch?”

“Kick someone in the face, usually,” Rogers says.

“Just take more than one stupid piece,” Barnes says.

“You’d strap the whole artillery to your back if you could,” Rogers says.

“Yeah?” Barnes says. “And?”

“Steve does have a point,” Wilson says. “When I say that Steve should weapon up, I don’t automatically mean guns. You just have a fetish.”

“Just ‘cause I’m 20% metal doesn’t mean I have a fetish,” Barnes says.

“5%,” Rogers says. “One arm’s only about 5% of—”

“No,” Barnes says.

The more Tony listens in, the more he parses that Rogers’s real voice is somewhere between Stevens’s and Nomad Cap’s, not so soft as the former but not so gruff as a latter – a Goldilocks rumble in-between. There are other things, too, like how Rogers stands properly (unlike Stevens) but he does all sorts small gestures with his hands and head to emphasize his point (unlike Cap).

His sense of humor is familiar, too. Flat-delivery snark, subtly charming, and just that little bit bitchy. Which Tony had noticed in both Stevens _and_ Cap. (Why hadn’t he realized.)

More than once Tony’s tempted to say something, and land a response to one of Rogers’ comments. But that wouldn’t do. Tony has a self-inflicted anti-Rogers forcefield right now, which Rogers is fully respecting, and if Tony breaks it, it would be giving in.

The most that Tony gets from Rogers is when they’re finally ready and leave the house en masse, and Rogers rushes forward to catch the laptop that Tony almost drops on the way out.

“Thanks,” Tony says, but that’s it. It’s only because Tony still has his sunglasses on (_yes_, at _night_) that he dares watch Rogers nod an acknowledgement, his face placid and accepting.

This is a final hurrah, Tony thinks. He’ll do this, then have a long think about the consultancy (who’s he kidding, he’s going to stick with it, he only has a few months left anyway), then go back to the SI revamp and everything will… continue as before.

He will stay the path.

Tony will go back to doing gear for Wilson, who is an actual professional who doesn’t do dumb things like tell Tony meandering stories about what inspires him to put good into the world, or spend time with Tony when he’s recovering from injuries, or take more than the absolute minimum amount of effort to give feedback on whatever Tony’s made for him.

Tony will also go back to steering Stark Industries straight into Pepper’s hands and creating as many opportunities – physical, financial, spatial – for other brilliant minds to find ways to save the world. Pepper will have to find a new set of assistants, too, though that would depend on Tony’s eventual negotiations with Fury. (Rushman _is _very good, but her skills would be more useful elsewhere, and Tony will just have to take some showy security steps to get Fury off his back.)

It’s all very neat and obvious. Tony can’t wait to get started.

Once they’ve defeated Hydra, of course.

+

They arrive outside the Triskelion at about three in the morning, in three vehicles: car, SUV and bike, like a mix-‘n-match squad of SHIELD’s Angels (feat. Tony Stark). A night op isn’t Tony’s idea of a good time, but he’s done enough all-nighters (or more than enough, according to some) to know that the challenge here today would be in trying not to die, as opposed to trying to stay awake.

There’s a plan. Everyone knows what to do. Fury’s somewhat in charge, but Wilson’s in charge, too, not that Tony has a decent handle on their dynamic.

The groups split up: Wilson and Fury each going at it alone, Rogers with Hill, and Tony with Barnes.

At least Barnes doesn’t talk much. He’s all silent efficiency as he leads Tony through the underground entrance that’s used for physical deliveries to the construction hangars underneath the facility.

The hangar itself is much quieter than the last time Tony was here. There are people working, but it’s a fraction of what Tony saw in daytime, though there are more highly-visible guards spread out at intervals. The hellicarriers themselves are much further along in their construction, too, with one already having all four repulsor engines installed.

That’s the one they’re aiming for. Tony and Barnes creep around corners and boxes, avoid being seen, and find their way up into the vehicle.

As they climb up, Tony spots an incongruous little section at a far end of the hangar. Two agents in black are guarding a small patch of workfloor, which has a computer-laden bench, a few chairs, a camping tent (albeit a fancy one), and other sundries that don’t look at all in line with the scale of hellicarrier construction.

“Huh.” Tony nudges Barnes’s arm. “That’s probably where they’re keeping Hammer. You gonna rescue him or what?”

“Probably,” Barnes says. “Eventually.”

“Not that I don’t understand the impulse,” Tony says, “but the guy doesn’t deserve Hdyra.”

“That may be true, but he can wait.”

They go deep inside the new hellicarrier with its new car-ish smell, both of them confident of the route to the server room. It’s clear that there’s no one inside the vehicle itself at this time of night, and all the security points are easily bypassed with JARVIS’s help.

In barely any time at all, Tony’s settled at the server room’s main console, where he makes himself and the laptops comfortable, and summons the screens to life. “Finally, some breathing room,” he says. “JARVIS, you with me?”

“_Always, sir_,” JARVIS says.

Tony cracks his knuckles. “Time for a wake-up call.”

“We’re at the server,” Barnes says into his earpiece. Wilson acknowledges, and the others report on their locations as well.

While Tony gets down to it, Barnes takes a protective position by the server room door, his rifle pointed low to the ground. Barnes looks back and forth down the hallway, on full alert despite their current lack of company. The sight prickles déjà vu, which has Tony stiffening in alarm until he realizes that it’s only because it wasn’t too long ago that he was in another hellicarrier server room similar to this one, with another Captain America watching his back. But just to be sure…

“I haven’t met you before, right?” Tony says. “Before today?”

“Don’t know,” Barnes says. “I meet lots of people. Probably not.”

“Okay, phew. I did see you before, though. A few days ago, chasing Fury before his faked death.”

Barnes makes a sound like he’s not sure why Tony’s still talking. “Okay.”

“Hammer was there, too,” Tony says. “I guess that explains his ‘Captain America is my BFF’ comment. How long did you stick with him?”

“A few days. One and a half days.”

“Impressive. He get his hands on that?” Tony gestures at Barnes’ left arm. Most of it is inside the suit, but there’s an inch and a half of visible metal at the wrist.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“You want to talk vibranium, then?” Tony says. “’Cause I can’t be sure, but that sounds like vibranium.”

“You want to talk about Steve?” Barnes counters.

Tony’s fingers stumble on the keyboard. He looks up at Barnes, though the man’s still way too much of a stranger for Tony to get any read through the cowl-helmet. “Wow,” Tony says.

Barnes shrugs, but doesn’t apologize. Very unlike Rogers, and unlike Wilson. Which is kind of heartening, except for where the mere sound of Rogers’s name has become the aural equivalent of slamming a fist against Tony’s emotional funny bone.

“Don’t worry about it,” Barnes says, which seems something of a non sequitur. “Whatever Steve did is his own fault.”

Tony feels his hackles rise, then drop back. JARVIS has found a Hydra blockchain in the SHIELD archive and is eating it up eagerly, paving the way for the eventual walloping.

“Yeah, it is,” Tony says.

“’Cause it’s just like him, the first time in years that he gets interested in someone, he’d mess it up.”

Tony inhales sharply. His first instinct is to rebuke – ‘_interested’_, what the fuck is ‘_interested’_? But Tony’s brain helpfully reminds him of the parts he’s refused to think about: Rogers-as-Stevens saying that he “really likes” Tony, Rogers admitting that he’s attracted to Tony, Rogers saying that he just wanted to spend time with him. But Rogers can say whatever he likes, for it doesn’t _mean_ anything. It’s just some SHIELD thing, or some Rogers thing, or – or.

Though Tony’s hands are still moving over the keyboards, he slants a side-eye to Barnes, but the guy isn’t even looking at him. Barnes – supposed partner-in-boyhood-crime with Rogers is currently too busy being Winter Cap on high alert, and poised for action at any moment.

“So, what,” Tony says, “he gets into trouble and you pull him out? Isn’t that part of your double act?”

“Don’t know, seems like you’re handling it just fine,” Barnes says.

Tony narrows his eyes. “That’s not going to work.”

“Okay,” Barnes says.

“_That’s_ not going to work either.”

Barnes lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “Okay.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Yeah,” Barnes agrees.

Tony’s earpiece crackles, cutting off that line of thought.

“_The holding cells are full up_,” Hill says. “_Looks like they corralled everyone they couldn’t get to comply with their new direction._”

“_Okay, you and Nomad on that?_” Wilson says.

“_Yeah, we’ve got it_,” Rogers says.

“_Cyclops?_ _Fury_?” Wilson sighs. “_Okay we stick to the plan. Secure the building and—_” He’s cut off by the tinny sounds of gunfire.

“_Cap?_” Hill says.

“Might want to get a move on,” Barnes says. “Sounds like they know we’re here.”

Not that Tony’s opinion matters, but an old-fashioned ambush sounds, well… old-fashioned. Get into the Triskelion, get control of its armories and control center, and neutralize all the agents that they know to be Hydra. A force of six can get some of that done, but it’s hardly as straightforward as gunning for the enemy flag.

It’s worse, of course, to only be able to listen in. Tony’s only a tinkerer in this mess of soldiers and spies, so all he can do is sit tight at the computer console while the Wilson, Rogers and Hill (Fury’s still quiet) bark updates at each other as they move through the Triskelion freeing allies and taking down friends-turned-foes, while their voices get progressively breathless and tense.

What Tony’s doing is important, but all limitations rankle – this one included. He can picture in his mind’s eye what everyone’s doing and what they need to accomplish, and if only he had a little more information, he could streamline everything, and get everyone from point A to point E and be home in time for breakfast.

“_Oh hey, just spotted Rumlow_,” Rogers says. “_Think I’m gonna say hi._”

“Knock a few of his teeth out for me,” Barnes says. “Thanks.”

“That’s violent,” Tony says under his breath.

“You used to make weapons for a living,” Barnes says.

“Hey!” Tony has a killer retort but is distracted by the flush of data streaming down the computer screens. JARVIS is gobbling the whole thing up, but the Hydra AI’s perking up now, too. Tony taps the earpiece and says, “All right, I have the dinner lists. Metadata’s encrypted to kingdom come, but there’s names, dates, the motherload.”

“_Hydra names_?” Wilson says.

“Yep, and…” Tony trails off, his attention snagged to a side panel where JARVIS has highlighted an alarm. “Okay, and the AI has noticed, so it’s moving into… hmm. That looks like self-destruct.”

“_You better not have just said self-destruct_,” Wilson says.

“Okay, let’s call it creative remodeling,” Tony says. “With a kablooey.”

“Where’s the kablooey gonna come from?” Barnes says.

“Mutual ballistic missile exchange,” Tony says. “Between the Triskelion and Lehigh.”

“_I’m on it_,” Rogers says. “_Which launcher?_”

“No, I’ll do it,” Barnes says. “I’m closer. You guys need to secure the building.”

“_Copy that, you’re on THAAD detail_,” Wilson says.

Tony squawks when Barnes grabs the back of his hoodie and hauls him to his feet. He flails, one hand grabbing at his phone and the other smacking Barnes in the face, not that the guy does the decent thing of reacting to it in any way.

“It’s still downloading!” Tony protests. “You want to take out Hydra, you need to know who they are, where they are, what they’ve done—”

“Not much use if we’re dead.”

“No, we’re not going to be dead because you are going to get to the interceptor, and I can stay to—”

“Come _on_.” Barnes groans when Tony gets a foot around the frame of the door, twisting stubbornly in his attempt to hold on. “If I let you get hurt, Steve’ll kill me, and I’ve gotten really fond of this job, all right?”

“Trust me,” Tony hisses. “I’ll just stay long enough to get the load.”

Barnes lets Tony go, but only long enough for Tony to release his grip on the doorway, after which Barnes promptly resumes dragging Tony out of the server room and down the hellicarrier corridors.

“Your program has engaged the Hydra AI, right?” Barnes says. “He can keep at it, and if the building is still standing when we win, we’ll come back for the drop. You need to help me get Hammer out of here.”

“Okay. Okay! Just let me…” Tony taps at the phone, switching to remote mode. “J, time to hit ‘em in the nads. All sets go.”

“_Executing nad-hitting protocol, sir_.”

“Now we go,” Barnes says.

Tony has half a mind to keep resisting anyway for the principle of it, but there’s not much that an unarmed non-soldier person like himself can do against someone who has a vibranium arm. Though as soon as Tony thinks that, he starts contemplating ways that one _can _neutralize someone with a vibranium arm, or any other vibranium appendage. Magnets, repulsor fire, bionics – there’s actually quite a few possibilities.

Out loud, Tony says: “You are definitely my least favorite Cap.”

“Thanks,” Barnes says. “I’ll tell Steve that.”

“No, that’s not…” Tony grunts when Barnes pushes him aside, getting him out of the way just as Hydra hostiles start opening fire at them. Barnes lifts his rifle to return fire, while Tony crouches behind cover, safe-ish and seething.

+

Tony’s still seething when he makes his final dash out of the Triskelion’s service tunnels onto the other side of the Potomac, dragging Hammer with him.

Hammer’s screaming, but he’s been screaming for so long that Tony is almost impressed by his lung capacity. He’d screamed through Barnes’s frighteningly efficient taking down of the SHIELD-Hydra agents that had been holding him hostage, and screamed through Barnes’s shoving of him at Tony to get him out of the facility, and screamed as Tony used the repulsors to blast their way through the fencing.

Barnes is still in the building, though, and Tony’s been tracking his and the others’ movements through the earpiece.

“_How’s the missile trajectory?_” Hill is saying.

“_I’ve got it, I can make it_,” Barnes says.

“_Fury’s with Pierce_,” Rogers says. “_It sounds like he can call off the missile from here, but it’s—_”

“Anthony,” Hammer says, clawing at Tony and drowning out the actual helpful dialogue in Tony’s earpiece. “Anthony, what’s happening, what are—”

Tony tries to shove Hammer away, but doesn’t get very far. “Can you please go somewhere else and be helpful?”

“What? What can I do?” Hammer says.

“Call fucking 911,” Tony snaps. “Or your defense contacts, or whoever the hell else that can help.”

“Oh! Right right right.” Hammer pats himself down. “They took my phone. Anthony, they took—”

“There!” Tony points at the nearest road, which is starting to get busy as dawn approaches. “Flag down a car and ask to borrow their phone. Go do that. Now!”

Hammer scurries off, leaving Tony pressing a hand over his ear to listen in to the comms.

“_There’s a Quinjet_,” Rogers says, sending Tony’s heart leaping into his throat. “_I can intercept the manual way, shoot it down_—”

“_Too risky_,” Barnes says.

“_I’m almost at the control room_,” Hill says. “_Stand by_.”

Tony isn’t a soldier, has zero interest in ever being a soldier, and anyway there’s too many soldiers in SHIELD and the rest of the world else already. But he burns now at his uselessness – his age, his comparative lack of strength, his non-combatant background all coming together to make him a sitting duck. A ballistic missile? Easy pickings, if he had the right tools. Actually, it’d still be easy picking even if he had the _wrong_ tools, for he can make them the right tools, given time. But since he has neither, Tony can do nothing.

Tony Stark, certified genius, can do nothing.

This feeling has come before. Losing his parents – Howard first, then Maria – to disease. The attack on his convoy. The kidnapping, the weeks of torture. Learning that the arc reactor that saved his life is also killing him. Stane’s multi-layered betrayal through a mentorship that was meant only to manipulate, and until he’d taken all he thought that Tony was capable of.

What has Tony done with all of this? What is the point of him, if he can’t fix things when it really matters?

“_ETA two minutes and ten seconds_,” Hill says.

Here’s further evidence that for all that Tony’s been doing, it’s not enough. If it were enough, he’d be able to offer more than just his standing here like a chump, listening as Barnes curses a storm on comms, and there’s a blast at the launch atrium when the ground-to-air interceptor erupts into the air.

Tony presses a hand on his chest, over the hard shape of the arc reactor. He still has time. Not a lot of it, sure, but doesn’t he always work great under pressure? There’s more that he can do.

The interceptor wobbles – Tony could’ve fixed that, too – but soars up into the sky. Hope rises in Tony as it moves in a promising parabola, further up into the clouds. There’s a flash of yellow and orange at point of impact, followed a half-second later by the crack of an explosion.

But something comes through. Something smaller – a segment of the missile, split off from the main payload. A Jericho variant, Tony realizes.

Tony lifts a hand to the earpiece to warn the others, but it’s too quick. This segment hits the top of the Triskelion at an angle, and the ensuing explosion casts a column of dark smoke curling upward.

Tony’s legs give out from under him, and he lands on the ground with a shocked thud.

It feels like forever before the earpiece crackles back to life.

“_Sound off_.” Wilson coughs. “_Hey_.”

“_I’m here_,” Barnes says.

“_Hill’s down_,” Fury says.

“_Rogers_?” Wilson says. “_Yo, Nomad?_”

“_He was at the elevators_,” Fury says. “_Some of ‘em were making for the hangars to escape._”

“_On it_,” Barnes says.

“_Stark_?” Wilson says.

Tony snaps out of it. “Yeah? Oh, yeah. I see it, the hangar doors are opening. I can, uh…” He fumbles with his phone. “I’ll see what I can do.”

+

The next couple of hours are something of a blur. Some of the Hydra agents manage to get away but a great deal more are successfully taken into custody alive, including Pierce himself. What tips the balance in their favor is the influx of actual SHIELD agents and allies on their side – those released from the holding cells, and those successfully called back to base.

The sun comes up, and emergency responders arrive on site. The injured are tended to, though Tony carefully detangles himself from the fuss while Hammer groans and moans his way to the nearest hospital.

In this chaos that Fury is trying get under control, a SHIELD agent comes out to find Tony. She introduces herself as Sharon Carter, grandniece of the original Cap herself. This would’ve been a very cool meeting on any other day, but Tony’s too fixated on the need to know what’s happening, if there’s anything he can do, and so on.

Sharon takes him to the Triskelion’s secondary control room, where Tony holes up with a number of SHIELD computer whizzes who are processing the Hydra data drop and are compiling (what they hope will be) a definitive secret Hydra agent name list.

“This goes back decades,” says Klein, one of the tech agents. “And some of the people on this are…”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “That’s why we need to be very careful with this. No corruption anywhere down the line.”

Fury finds them still at it hours later: his IT team and Tony hard at work in breaking down the petabytes of data that JARVIS managed to download from the now-destroyed Lehigh server.

“Top of the list, all active SHIELD agents,” Fury says. “I’m willing to bet not all of them hightailed it, so we’re going to be methodical and thorough.”

“Got it, boss,” Klein says.

“Stark?” Fury says. “Walk with me.”

Tony scowls. “There’s still a lot to—”

“Walk with me,” Fury insists.

Tony sighs, but gets up and follows Fury out of the room.

This secondary control room is in one of the SHIELD complex’s annex buildings, in a wing that extends away from the main Triskelion tower. Fury starts a march down a corridor with long windows overlooking the aforementioned tower, which is smoking a great deal less than it was earlier this morning. Tony keeps pace, though his hands tap restlessly at his pockets.

“This is an endurance event,” Fury says. “It’s not just a matter of taking the building back.”

“Yeah, I know. Cut off one head, et cetera,” Tony says.

Fury stops at a further window, where he looks up at the tower. Only the top three floors were severely damaged, though there’s greater losses elsewhere – people, hardware, self-confidence in SHIELD as a whole.

“It’s a good thing you’re not dead,” Tony says. “Though I’m also glad for that on a personal level. Did I mention that? No? Sorry. You want a hug?”

“I’m glad I’m not dead, too,” Fury says. “Have you called Potts yet?”

“Yep. Okay, _no_, but I thought about it really intensely, so I accidentally convinced myself that I already did it.”

“Right, so you might want to get on that,” Fury says wryly. “They’ve managed to secure your Tower as well.”

“I know, I checked,” Tony says. “I’m probably going to keep the place on lockdown for another day, just to do full security sweeps. Thanks for that, too. I mean, it’s your fault that they attacked the Tower in the first place—“

“Excuse me?”

“—so you’re really only doing the minimum decent thing.” Tony grins, unbothered by Fury’s one-eyed glower. “What do you need?”

“We’ve got this, Stark,” Fury says. “Hydra may have taken a bite out of us, but I still have a pretty damn good coterie of agents, whose _actual _day job this is. Get some rest.”

“Are you getting rest?”

“I was dead for two days.”

“So you rose a whole day ahead of schedule.”

Fury puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. It’s such a surprising move that Tony’s mouth snaps shut. Fury says, almost gently, “Get the hell out of here before I throw you out.”

“Wow,” Tony says. “What happened to my being a target?”

“You think Hydra’s gonna come after you now?” Fury says. “We just smashed their anthill, sent them scurrying.”

“They still _could_.”

“You want Coulson to shadow you, is that what you’re asking?”

“Or you could just say that you trust my personal security measures.”

Fury lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, casually insouciant. “Hill’s over at Agutter Medical, if you want to say hi.”

“Ah.” That’s a masterful stroke of Fury’s, cutting off the topic at the knees. Tony also wishes he didn’t hear the rest of what Fury doesn’t say, i.e. that Hill’s just one among others who got injured this morning and have been sent to Agutter. “Right. I’m still mad at you, by the way.”

“We can talk about your contract in a couple of days,” Fury says. “If you want out.”

“All right,” Tony says. “Okay.”

+

Tony doesn’t go straight to Agutter. First, he calls Pepper, who yells at him; then he calls Rhodey, who doesn’t yell but is very pointed about his not yelling.

After a decent amount of communication (sans the dying thing, which he’ll get to at a later day), Tony gets a lift from one of the many journalists covering the excitement just outside the Triskelion. An agreeable young woman – whom Tony notices for her excellent taste in high tops – trades the ride for a few soundbites. They have a decent chat over the ride, during which Tony is witty and charming and does his best not to tell her anything that Fury’s likely to come after him for later.

She drops him off in the city. Tony gets some food and coffee that he takes his time consuming while he catches up on his messages with JARVIS.

He does end up at Agutter, eventually. He finds Maria Hill easily, too, which would be more alarming if it weren’t obvious that Fury has some sort of deal with the hospital that’s allowed SHIELD agents to effectively take over an entire floor.

There’s a nurse in Hill’s room, checking on her blood pressure following surgery, so Tony doesn’t stay long. (Hah, _sure_, as if that’s the real reason.)

Rogers is two rooms down, also in a bed and just as unconscious as Hill is. But unlike Hill, both his legs are in casts, and there are bandages along the right side of his body.

Tony hovers in the doorway, indecisive.

Why is he even here? No, that’s a stupid question. He’s here because he got attached to a man – two men, except they’re just one – that he barely really knows, yet can’t find the energy to be angry at anymore. How can someone like Tony stay mad against an actual hero who does stupid things like run headfirst into explosions, or offer to fly a plane to shoot down a missile, or keeps saving Tony’s life?

The man almost died, for fuck’s sake. Tony’s anger, though real, feels distant and petty. He wouldn’t wish any of these bruises or broken bones on someone like Hammer, let alone Rogers.

Tony enters the room and walks up to the bed. Rogers’s head is turned a little to the side, his mouth partially open. His hair, usually combed neatly, is a mess of tangles. Tony holds a hand up in the air in front of Roger’s face, hiding and then unhiding the top half of Rogers’s head from view. Stevens, Cap; Cap, Stevens.

_Steve Rogers_.

There’s a chair next to the bed, so Tony sits. He pulls out his phone and resumes trawling his messages. Klein’s sent him a couple of tricky Hydra data packets that need attention, so he works on those.

Time passes. Tony sinks further and further in the chair until he’s leaned back far enough that he hooks one leg over the chair’s arm to be comfortable. He finds in the Hydra packet more locations, descriptions and what seems like code names. There’s old stuff, too, on Camp Lehigh, and events that go almost all the way back to Peggy Carter’s time. There’s a file on Howard.

That last one gives Tony pause. He opens it, bracing for the worst, but only finds a personal dossier. It contains reports on Howard’s role in SHIELD and SI, video and audio recordings of him at work in SHIELD labs, and what seems to be a ranking on his threat level. Tony relaxes, and takes his time browsing in further detail.

Curiously, some of the attachments are files of Howard’s that Tony’s never seen before. There are old blueprints, notes, and hey, even a sketch of his Stark Expo fairground model, which for some reason has math appendices and a drawing of a four-dimension tesseract with it.

Tony puts a mark on that packet and sets it aside to study later.

So surprising and intriguingly personal is this data plunder, that it takes Tony a minute to notice when someone enters the room. He looks up, and there’s Natalie Rushman. Or the woman who was pretending to be Natalie Rushman, though she’s changed out of her usual blouse and pencil skirt for a faux-leather tactical suit.

“The Tower’s fine,” Romanoff says. “Had to blow up a section of the tunnels, though.”

“I know,” Tony says. “I’ll have a look at it when I get back.”

Romanoff leans against the wall by the door. There’s another empty chair in the room, but apparently she’s not interested. “I suppose I’m fired,” she says.

“Not my call,” Tony says. “It’s up to Pepper.”

It’s not exactly a joke, so Romanoff doesn’t exactly smile.

Tony tries to resume his browsing, but Romanoff says, “Fury has particular ideas on how to best look out for people.”

“I am aware,” Tony says dryly, just as he’s aware that Romanoff and Rogers (now _there’s_ a name for a cabaret show for ya) were just doing their job. _Jobs._

Fury told them to keep an eye on Tony, so they did. Wilson just happened to get taken out of the field, and Fury wasn’t going to waste his access to Tony. It’s only sensible that they’d send another Cap Tony’s way, and maximize Tony’s use as a tech.

It’s the _other_ parts that shouldn’t have happened.

“So are you actually higher ranking than him or what?” Tony says.

“I like to think so,” Romanoff says, with the flash of a smile that’s more genuine than anything Tony’s ever seen from her. “He’s still green around the gills in some areas. I was supposed to keep an eye on him almost as much as on you.”

“You failed pretty hard on that last one.”

“Sure,” Romanoff says. “Maybe.”

“_Maybe_,” Tony echoes in disbelief. “Maybe?”

“When he puts his mind on something, kind of hard to get it off track.”

“And I’m sure you had _no way_ of stopping him from doing anything he’s not supposed to.”

Romanoff shrugs. “Not my fault you didn’t notice my push-up bras whenever Steve was around.”

“Oh come off it, you have to know how…” Tony trails off, noticing the sudden subtle shift of Romanoff’s eyes to the side. Deliberate or accidental, Tony follows that gaze and turns.

Rogers is awake. Rogers is still lying on the bed, but he’s turned his head to face them, his eyes tired but open. He’s looking at Tony.

A flush of embarrassed terror sweeps through Tony. How long has Rogers been conscious? After Romanoff showed up? Before? Does it matter? _Yes, it does_, because Tony may have entered this room and sat down in this chair out of some ridiculous urge to stay near an injured man, but hell if he even put two braincells into pondering what he’d do or say if said man woke up.

Rogers’s eyes are gentle – glad of Tony’s presence – yet almost fearful. As though he knows that at any second something will snap and Tony will leave.

Tony tries to distract the noise in his brain by focusing on the blue of Roger’s eyes. He must have worn contacts as Stevens. Really good contacts.

Rogers’s mouth shifts, trying out a small smile. It just makes Tony’s lips tingle, his sensory-intense memory helpfully tossing up the sweet phantom pressure of Rogers’s kisses.

“Cool, you’re not dead,” Tony says. He shifts in his chair, getting his feet back on the floor and brushing himself off as he stands. “Good job with the, with the… with all of it.”

“Tony, wait, you don’t have to—” Rogers says.

“Your supervisor’s here,” Tony says, jerking his head at Romanoff. “I’m gonna… yeah.”

Tony gets out of the room before he can second-guess himself. Romanoff doesn’t try to stop him, and instead goes to Rogers’s bed to prevent the idiot from trying to sit up.

The noise in Tony’s head doesn’t let up. He walks down the hallway in a daze, past SHIELD agents and nurses doing their own thing. Tony feels naked, because he _is_ naked, isn’t it? That’s the real problem.

Tony’s very deliberate in what he shows people of himself. Sure, he thrives on attention, but it’s attention he courts on his own terms, and the more so after he’d learned of the damage he’d put out into the world and gained the arc reactor’s expiry date as a trade-off. It made sense to let the work Tony’s doing speak for itself, in the hope that it’d be judged at a distance from the rest of his actual legacy.

Besides, if anyone looked too close at Tony, they’d ask the questions he hasn’t wanted to think about – isn’t it too little too late, how much can he really expect to accomplish, and how sincere is he _really_?

Then came along one Steve Rogers, who saw more of Tony than he should have. Worse yet, he took that as an invitation to _care_.

Because he does care. He’s cared through kindness twice over – as Stevens and as Cap – along with his various attempts to connect despite the limitations of the roles he was supposed to have stuck to. It’s difficult for Tony to wrap his mind around Rogers wanting to come closer to Tony instead of being turned off, but he can’t deny that Rogers didn’t _have_ to do any of it. Not unless he wanted to.

That’s not even starting on the rest of it. Tony can see in retrospect how the fallout with Stevens colored Rogers’s behavior. The tension and guilt that kept him snappish, his claim that he’s not a good Captain America, the way that he’d made a decision to tell Tony things he hadn’t been given clearance to (Barnes as the other Cap, his early years with SHIELD, and so on).

There was also that conversation in the motel that burns now to think back on. About relationships, compartmentalization, and Rogers’s very easy statement of, “Not a good guy” when referring to himself. Tony knows that this has shades of hypocrisy – he’s thought and said far worse about himself – but Rogers can’t possibly hope to compete with Tony when it comes to sheer volume of destructive stupidity.

“Stark.”

Tony’s jerked out of his thoughts by Wilson, who’s had to step almost directly in his way to get his attention.

“Oh, hey,” Tony says. “Hill’s upstairs.”

“Right.” Wilson’s not wearing his helmet, but the cuts and scrapes on his face and neck have been tended to. “You seen Steve? He okay?”

“Yeah, I think. I mean, I did see him, and I think he’s okay. You should—” Tony starts to gesture behind him to show the route to Rogers’s room, but is halted by Wilson’s hand on his arm. “What?”

“You did good today,” Wilson says. “Thanks.”

Tony makes a face. “Yeah, okay. Anyway, Rogers is back there, and he’s with a certain red-haired menace of yours. But, um… He’s pretty beat up. He won’t get in trouble, will he?”

Wilson frowns. “For what?”

“For, uh…” Tony shrugs.

“Oh,” Wilson says. “Nah, I mean, I’ve gone to bat for him before, it’s not a hardship to do it again. I mean, a Cap not following orders exactly? Must be a Tuesday. We’ve got to hold on to the good ones.”

“Right.” Tony nods rapidly. “The good ones.”

“’Cause he is,” Wilson continues. “Doesn’t make him _not _an idiot sometimes, but don’t we all have our moments? I know I’m supposed to say that, ‘cause he’s my boy despite having two left feet and being a terrible liar—”

Tony snorts.

“A terrible liar,” Wilson says firmly, his eyes damn near twinkling. “For real. Guy’s just not made for undercover work. The only thing he can do is use parts of himself that are real, which pisses Nat off to no end.”

“Okay, thanks Cap,” Tony says, trying to slip past him, “but I’m kind of in a rush, I have a plane to catch.”

“The plane that you own, that plane?”

“That one, exactly.” Tony waves vaguely and quickens his pace, which he does not let up until Wilson’s long gone from view and Tony’s out of the building.

Wilson and Romanoff can say whatever they like, but it makes no difference. Even Tony’s own feelings – whatever they are now, and whatever they may be once his thoughts have time to settle down – make no difference. Fact is, Tony’s still dying, and none of any of it matters at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I like to imagine that just after the end of this chapter when Bucky visits Steve while he’s recovering, Bucky tells Steve about that short stint he had with Tony and Bucky's like, “Your man is so feisty.” And Steve is like, “HE IS, ISN’T HE!!!!” :("


	7. Chapter 7

Tony goes back to New York. He checks out the damage on the Tower and puts repairwork plans into motion.

Pepper returns to New York, too. Tony takes her out to a nice dinner, and for two reasons. One, because she’s amazing and deserves it, and two, because she’s less likely to make a scene in semi-public when Tony tells her the full extent of his work with SHIELD _and _about the arc reactor _and_ about how the arc reactor’s slowly killing him.

Tony’s plan is right on the money, though it’s positively heartwarming how she refuses to believe that he can’t figure out a way to overcome the arc reactor problem.

“Isn’t that what you _do_?” Pepper says. “I thought limits were for normal people.”

“Excuse me?” Tony says. “I tell you that I haven’t even looked at my will yet and you’re quoting _me_ back at me?”

Pepper taps her perfectly manicured nails against the tablecloth. “Advanced surgery.”

“Brilliant minds have been trying to figure it out for months.”

“Cryogenics, until they do figure out.”

“I’m not going to sleep, for crying out loud.”

Pepper gestures with her chin to Tony’s chest. “Upgrade _that_.”

“Brilliant minds have been trying to figure that out for months, too. And by brilliant minds I mean _my_ mind. Because that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“When?” Pepper counters. “Because you’ve literally just told me how much SHIELD work you’ve been doing right under my nose, so I don’t see how you’ve had time for it.”

“A lack of imagination on your part.”

“Stop that.” Pepper takes a deep breath. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re taking a leave of absence from SI.”

“I am not… Wait, I am? No, Pep, no, I’m getting a breather from SHIELD already. There’s the – they’re focusing on rebuilding right now and I’m not, uh…” Tony trails off, and is barely able to stop from squirming under Pepper’s gaze. “I’m taking a break from SHIELD.”

“Because Natalie and Rudy turned out to be undercover? They were really good,” Pepper says wistfully.

“You are taking it far more calmly than I thought you would.”

“After learning the fact that you’re _dying_, everything else pales in comparison,” Pepper says dryly. “Fine, so you’re taking a break from SHIELD as well. That’s even better, actually.”

“How is that even better?”

“You can put all your focus on finding a solution. Maybe multiple solutions, if one is not enough. I’ll help you go through SI’s archives, there might be something there from the earlier versions of the arc reactor.” When Tony makes a face, she adds, “I know, you’ve looked.”

“Not everywhere,” Tony admits.

+

It sits better if Tony thinks of this as a holiday, as opposed to him selfishly bailing on all the work he’d committed himself to. Well, he _is_ bailing on the work, but Pepper (and later, Rhodey) insist that his reasons are not selfish, and if Tony can’t believe his best friends, then who can he believe?

For a change of scenery, Tony has JARVIS dust off the old place, packs up the bots, and flies out to Malibu. Pepper, for her part, stays in New York to handle SI but she checks in every day. And, just as she promised, she digs up the old archives and sends anything remotely interesting Tony’s (actually, JARVIS’s) way.

Rhodey comes to visit, too, and has his own reaction to Tony’s breaking the news. A part of that reaction is his decision to spend a couple of days hanging out with Tony like old times, right down to the maudlin-but-measured drinking and going outside at night to sit on the balcony and talk shit at the stars.

They reminisce, they laugh, they gossip, Rhodey complains about military bureaucracy, and Tony shares anecdotes on being a consultant for an intelligence agency.

“I suppose I can tell you now,” Rhodey says. “We’re opening a new contract with Hammer.”

“_No_,” Tony moans. “How could you.”

“The man’s good at marketing. Getting kidnapped by Hydra? Easy spin.”

“He only got kidnapped because they couldn’t get _me_.” Tony growls, and it is apparently such a pitiful growl that Rhodey winds an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in for a semi-drunken cuddle. Tony gives in, and settles against Rhodey’s side with a sigh. “Thank fuck he still has no idea what they had him working on.”

“The big version of that, right?” Rhodey bumps the side of his head against Tony’s, his eyes down to the glow on his chest. “You really need to show me what the mini-repulsors can do.”

“Ooh, yes.” Tony starts to get up, but is pulled back down by Rhodey’s grip on his arm.

“Pending a review of our future hangovers,” Rhodey says.

“Pfft. Boring.”

“You know what’s boring? Your lone gunslinger act.”

“An unfair exaggeration,” Tony says archly. “I was literally working with SHIELD to find a way to fix this.”

“SHIELD, right,” Rhodey says. “You mean: people who don’t know you personally, and whom you could easily keep at a distance.”

_Except one_, Tony thinks.

“Such a good idea,” Rhodey says. He puts a hand on top of Tony’s head and shakes him a little. “Don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony says. “Are you honestly going to take my word for that?”

“I am. Now tell me more about your ion collider ideas.”

+

Much like how Tony isn’t entirely cut off from what’s going on with Stark Industries thanks to Pepper’s regular updates, Tony isn’t entirely cut off from what’s going on with SHIELD thanks to Hill’s less-than-regular-but-still-nice updates on SHIELD’s efforts to stamp out Hydra. He’s also in contact with Dr. Cho, to whom Tony’s still sending blood readings, and who returns the favor by mailing supplements and chlorophyll concoctions to help flush palladium from his system.

So it goes for a few weeks. Tony reads, tinkers and tests, and every other evening takes one of the cars out for pointless long drives along various beaches. Plenty of time to let his thought steep, come to terms with ideas he hadn’t wanted to consider before, and ponder what exactly he hopes to achieve.

Into this tranquility, Tony gets a phone call from Hill.

Which is unusual in itself, for she usually relies on emails or text messages. But Tony answers, and they exchange what counts as small talk via Fury’s latest actual-SHIELD headcount and the latest on the recovery of the destroyed Lehigh servers.

“As much as I enjoy the sound of your voice,” Tony says, “I must admit that I’m bracing myself for a shoe-drop.”

“_Helen wants you to change the blood tests you’re doing_,” Hill says. “_Against a different baseline, and as fresh a sample as possible. She has a modified spectrometer she wants you to use, and Captain Rogers has asked if he can be the one to deliver it to you._”

“Oh.” Tony drops his butt on the arm of a nearest couch, not that his knees suddenly went weak or anything like that. “You calling him Rogers now?”

“_That is his name, now that Cap’s back in field._”

“Right.”

“_I can tell him no._”

“So he’s walking around already?” Tony says.

“_He’s on active duty, yes_.”

“He’s on active…? Right. He has healing factor, so of course he’s… yeah.” Tony realizes his fingers are digging a knot into his shirt. He loosens his grip and puts his hand down. “Sure. Just let me know when.”

“_Got it, thanks._”

+

Tony should’ve said no.

“JARVIS,” Tony says. “Was it a bad idea to tell Hill that Rogers can come over?”

“_You’ve asked this question once today already, sir. And twice yesterday_.”

“You’re not supposed to count.”

“_My apologies._”

“Has your answer changed, though?”

_“I still have a lack of data either way, sir._”

+

It’s three days after Hill’s call when Steve finally shows up at the mansion. Tony knew he was coming. Hell, Tony even has his flight details, which were very courteously forwarded by Hill without Tony having to ask. Steve’s arrival is the absolute opposite of a surprise.

And yet.

Tony’s in the workshop when JARVIS gives him the head’s up that a car has pulled up to the gate. It’s almost an incongruous detail; Tony knows that Steve flew over in one of the SHIELD jets for security reasons, yet he’d rented a civilian car for the last mile of the trip. JARVIS opens the gate for Steve to park on the driveway, and Tony knows that JARVIS will guide Steve into the living room to wait.

As Tony climbs the stairs up from his workshop, he reviews the facts.

The good: this is Tony’s home turf, and it’s turf that Steve is not at all familiar with. Tony has home ground advantage.

The bad: everything else, probably.

Especially bad: Steve Rogers is in Tony’s living room wearing a black leather jacket that _actually fits_.

Tony falters at the top step. But he makes it onto the floor proper, and wills his face to say blank as Steve turns away from the window at the sound.

There’s a half-second where Steve’s face lights up at the sight of Tony, before it’s dialed back into a more polite smile. Which is appropriate for two people who are seeing each other for the first time after the somewhat awkward circumstances of their parting, and are both uncertain about the nature of their current meeting.

Now, Tony is an expert when it comes to these kinds of moments. A broad smile and full-on barreling through as if everything’s fine works wonders, and often has the other party relieved at Tony’s setting the tone. But it feels inappropriate to do that today, with Steve looking right at him as though he knows and expects Tony to do exactly that.

Also, it’s just plain _mean_ for Steve to come sauntering into Tony’s house like this, in a black jacket over a black shirt and jeans, and his hair combed back from his forehead. (No sign of the beiges of Stevens, and none of the form-fitting tactical readiness of Cap.) But it’s not an uneven fight, for Tony has it on good authority that he looks pretty damn good in his workshop tank tops, too.

Okay, no one’s said anything for a while. Tony should probably step up.

“Where’s my spectrometer?” Tony says.

“Oh, right.” Steve’s carrying a rectangular case in one hand, and he lifts it up to show Tony. “Where do you want…?”

“Coffee table.” Tony joins him in the living room, while small talk withers and dies in Tony’s throat – how’s Steve doing, how’s New York doing, Steve’s legs look like they’re working fine and are also _fine as hell_ – so there’s just the rustle of canvas and zippers as Steve opens the case up to show him the machine inside.

“Helen said that you’ll need to check the standard every time you use it, for accuracy,” Steve says carefully, as though reciting off an instruction list that he’d read. “Oh, yes, and I brought more of the supplements.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Jesus fuck, Tony hates small talk. He especially hates small talk when he knows it’s going to lead to big talk, because there’s no fucking way Steve crossed the continent for the simple sake of a delivery service. But again, Tony’s the one who said he could come over, because Tony is a genius.

“I, um.” Steve nods a little, as though internally rolling through a self-pep-talk. “I owe you an apology.”

“Nah,” Tony says easily. “You were just doing your job.”

“I… what?” Steve scrunches up his nose in annoyance. That is a facial expression that Tony never got to see on him as Stevens. “The job was one thing, but I wasn’t supposed to—”

“On a scale of bad things that people have done, this barely even counts.”

Now Steve looks like he’s actually raring for a fight. That jaw clench is all Cap’s. “It isn’t a competition, and it isn’t about scale. I pressed where I should have backed off, and I took advantage of what I knew—”

“No actual harm done, though.”

“Goddammit, Tony, why won’t you let me apologize!”

“Because it’s no big deal.” Tony shrugs. “You weren’t out to hurt me or anything I care about, so it’s just… whatever.”

Steve stares. “But I did hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but I did. You told me things you never would have, if you’d known that the two different people you were talking to were actually the same.”

“And lesson learned.” Tony pats Steve’s arm quickly, two taps that cannot be misconstrued as anything other than neutral-to-friendly.

“Oh,” Steve says.

At first Tony’s sure that that _oh_ is a sound of acceptance, i.e. Steve taking at face value Tony’s clear non-hostility and wanting to let things go. But then Steve’s face falls, a quick flash of comprehension before he pulls a smile back in its place – a thing Tony’s done so many times himself that it’s surreal to see it on someone else, and especially someone that Tony doesn’t know how to be a normal human being around.

Steve’s a smart man. He’s proven that before, and he proves it again now.

Tony is saying that he doesn’t need an apology because none of it mattered. The flirtation with him as Stevens, the confessions to him as Cap – it’s all erased, gone, forgotten. Any closeness between them was just an illusion that has been shattered so, now as far as Tony’s concerned, Steve is just some guy. No hard feelings; no feelings at all. It’s the best possible outcome, really.

“So, yeah,” Steve says, voice barely shaky at all. He stands up, his hands fumbling until he remembers to tuck his thumbs into his belt the way he usually does. “It was nice to see you again. I’m sorry for how things shook out.”

“Me, too.” Tony stands up as well, and walks Steve to the door. Tony’s whole body screams in protest but it’s mind over matter. “Tell Fury I said hi, yeah?”

“Sure,” Steve says.

Tony’s heart speeds up as they get nearer to the main door. Heat rushes up his neck, like some kind of by-product of the willpower it’s taking to not throw himself at Steve and cling to him like the needy fucking limpet he actually is.

At the doorway, Steve pauses with one hand on the door frame.

“Actually,” Steve says.

Tony cocks his head. “What?”

“I know Pepper’s mostly in New York, but there are other people visiting you, right?” Steve says.

“Some,” Tony says vaguely. “Here and there.”

“What are your, uh…” Steve pauses, struggling. “I know it’s none of my business, but what are your plans for when the poisoning grows more advanced? Is someone going to come by regularly?”

“What, you offering?” Tony says stupidly.

“I would,” Steve says immediately.

Tony laughs. “Come on.”

“I _would_.” Steve scowls, which is a fearsome scowl indeed when not hidden by the Cap helmet. “I’d come by every day, help with the blood testing, cleaning up, anything you need.”

“You have SHIELD.”

“SHIELD can fucking wait.”

“Whoa,” Tony says automatically, though he has no idea if he’s successfully hiding the fact that a small voice at the back of his brain is screaming in delight. “Calm down there.”

“I know you can pay for the best personal care in the world, all right. But you’re alone in this big house, and I can’t – I can’t _stand_ it. I can’t stand knowing that you’re by yourself, that you could be – that anything could happen and you’re not – you could just…” Steve trails off, horrified at his outburst. “Please just tell me that you or someone else has it covered.”

It’s a little hard for Tony to speak. Can anyone blame him, really, when Steve’s in his face like this, stubborn and passionate and his eyes just that shade too bright. But Tony does manage it, saying, “You still want to see me, knowing that I’m dying?”

“Of course.”

“Knowing that I could croak at any moment?”

“You can say it in as many ways as possible, and it’ll still be true. We don’t have to be friends, and you don’t have to like me, but I just…” Steve swallows. “I’d be here, if you’d let me.”

“How very Nicholas Sparks of you,” Tony says. “Joke’s on you, anyway. I’m not dying. Well, I’m just dying a normal amount, like with day-to-day aging as opposed to a palladium-accelerated.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

Tony taps the arc reactor. “Got a palladium replacement.”

“_What?_”

“Found some of Howard’s old notes from the Hydra data drop,” Tony says. “Got my thinking going down a different path, dug a little more, built a particle accelerator downstairs – don’t tell CERN – and voila, new element. Stable, not poisonous, and will definitely hold out long enough for nano surgery to catch up.”

Steve’s still staring. “Does Helen know?”

“Yeah, I’ve been sending her my blood readings, but I _guess_ she wants to be _sure_, hence the spectrometer.”

“You…” Steve takes a stilted half-step forward, hands out as though to grab Tony, before he remembers himself and hangs back. Relief breaks open on his face. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Aside from the usual caffeine abuse, of course.”

“But you’re gonna be _okay_.” Steve’s back hits the door frame as though his knees just gave out under him, which makes it Tony’s turn to clench his fists to stop himself from grabbing at Steve. Steve shakes his head, lets out a deep breath, and closes his eyes while he murmurs a thank you under his breath.

“Was that a prayer?” Tony says.

“A general thank you to the universe. Were you going to let me leave without telling me at all?”

“I hadn’t decided.” Tony grins. “But look, I withheld vital information on purpose. How’s it feel?”

“Pretty damn shitty,” Steve says good-naturedly. “Good job.”

“Thanks.” Tony pokes Steve’s shoulder, just as the man is starting to turn towards the driveway again. “Hey. My mom’s probably rolling in her grave at my failed hospitality. Did you eat before coming over? No? Let’s see what’s lying around.”

Steve opens his mouth as though to demur, but then he nods. “Okay.”

+

What is Tony doing? That little jab at Steve’s expense has evened the scales some, but Tony didn’t need to invite Steve back into the house, let alone poke through the fridge for leftovers while Steve rummages around the cabinets.

All right, so it’s sensible to keep a semi-friendly line of communication open with Steve. Tony’s going to return to SHIELD eventually, once the new arc reactor has stabilized and Cho’s given him the clean bill of health. Although Tony won’t be Steve’s tech guy anymore, they’ll probably end up crossing paths again. Maybe. Probably.

That’s the professional front. As for the personal front, there’s little that’s actually changed in what Tony wants from Steve, which is to say: nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

(Though it’s easier to believe that when Steve’s not physically _here_.)

“Hill said you’re back in the field,” Tony says as picks up and puts back various food containers. “Legs and all okay?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve says. “I having healing factor, remember?”

“Sure, a perfect reason to keep throwing yourself headfirst into physical peril.” Tony ignores the sudden way Steve looks over at him. “I’m guessing you’re all still busy playing whack-a-mole with Hydra?”

Steve’s over at the sink, and slowly resumes the motion of rinsing out a pair of mugs. “Some of it, yeah, but we’re short-staffed. Some of the more expansive work – intelligence gathering, mostly – has to be farmed out to other agencies. Fury’s not happy about it, as you can imagine, but he’s practically having to rebuild SHIELD’s networks from scratch and we can’t do everything we used to.”

“Hydra didn’t just infiltrate SHIELD,” Tony points. “They got into other agencies as well.”

“Hence the interagency work. There’s more than one kind of power vacuum to deal with, and it’s…” Steve sighs. “It’s hard to tell what the next six, twelve months are going to be like.”

“I’ll tell you what they are going to be. _Fun_.”

Tony finally picks some leftover Chinese that still smells okay and puts it on the counter. So now there’s a choice of three types of cuisine, and Tony’s about to ask which one Steve wants, when a mug is thrust at him.

Steve’s not particularly rude about it. He’s just filled two mugs from the carafe and is offering one of them, though when Tony’s head snaps back a little in surprise, Steve quickly puts said mug on the counter.

“Sorry,” Steve says quickly. He looks over at the row of containers. “Oh, it’s a buffet?”

“Yeah, it’s…” Tony swallows, unable to look away from the mug. “Hmm.”

At the corner of Tony’s eye, Steve’s shoulders droop a little. “Uh. What was I saying? Interagency, right? Yeah, so Sam’s got some of that covered, he’s doing a couple of high-profile missions to get on the… Tony?”

“I was just thinking ‘bout how you used to get me coffee,” Tony says. “Just those mornings whenever you were around the office, and you’d drop by with a brew.”

Steve nods, a quick jerk of the head. “Yeah.”

“It’s just funny.” Tony picks the mug up and takes a sip. “You were saying?”

“Right. So Maria’s got the idea about high-profile interagency missions, as a way of getting cooperation through the Hydra clean-up, because it’s not—”

“You never got me coffee as Cap,” Tony says.

“I did, too,” Steve says. “At the motel.”

The mention of the motel has them both falling silent.

That evening in the motel was the culmination of the hours of them driving, eating, chatting together, where previously they’d only had a few hours here and there. It was a pocket of intimacy and closeness, albeit intimacy and closeness that was horribly flawed. That’s the site where both of them felt that they had nothing left to lose, since their acquaintance was going to end soon anyway (Tony to his impending death, Steve to his breaking up their SHIELD partnership), that they might as well share some secret truths wrapped up in lies of omission.

It’s weird to look back on that and realize how much double-speak was going on. Tony confessed his reluctance to get into a relationship if he couldn’t be honest with his partner, neatly dodging the fact that the main thing he couldn’t be honest about was the arc reactor’s slow poisoning of him. Steve confessed his own frustrations with honesty vs. duty, and in his own way admitted out loud why Rudy Stevens had to go.

The double-identity issue was but one elephant in the room which, far as Tony’s concerned, has been dealt and done with. The other elephant in the room is this: the unresolved tension between him and Steve, which is the result of their distorted mutual attraction and friendship, which folded back on itself thanks to Steve’s double-dealing.

“Anyway,” Steve says loudly, “about Sam. He’s taking the Captain America role into the public sphere—”

“Why do you keep talking about SHIELD business?”

“Because my welcome here is really tenuous and SHIELD is a safe topic?” Steve says slowly.

“Well maybe I don’t want _safe_,” Tony says, his voice going high-pitched. “Maybe, maybe I want to talk about the more complicated things, did you think about that?”

“You? _You_ want to talk about complicated things?”

“I could!”

“Okay.” Steve puts his mug down on the counter, the sound echoing like the cocking of a gun. “What do you want to talk about?”

Tony realizes that he didn’t bring Steve back into the house for the sake of addressing this unresolved tension. He brought him back in because it’s just sinking in that Steve’s genuinely hurting. He’s been hurting from worry and guilt and that intense Captain America impulse to right wrongs, which includes making himself available for a beating (figuratively, but also literally, if necessary) from the focus of his attentions.

Because Tony _is_ the focus of Steve’s attentions, for some reason.

If Tony didn’t care about Steve, there’d be no need to square things between them. Tony can go his way, and Steve his, and maybe these whole couple of months will become a funny story to recall years from now. But Tony _does_ care, and the hurt can only be brought to balance if Tony claims what they both know is owed.

“I want to know how much you lied,” Tony says. “Not lies of omission. Actual lies, about who you are, your history, your… _you_.”

Steve thinks. The asshole has to tilt his head and scowl at the middle distance, as though the months he’d spent two-facing Tony have regressed into distant memory when they should be daisy-fresh and ready to pull out at a moment’s notice.

“Oh come on,” Tony says impatiently. “The mom who got you a book on Captain Carter. That real?”

“Of course,” Steve says, sounding offended.

“You and Barnes, childhood friends?”

“Yes, you can find that in our SHIELD files?”

“Did you actually make those paintings you put at your cubicle?”

“Yeah, I can tell you where the scenes are from.”

“No!” Tony hits his fist against the counter. “You must have lied about something!”

Tony knows he’s right when Steve stiffens up. Guilt drags Steve’s face into a droop, and he says quietly, “I… yes. Remember the pizza I brought up to you, that I said was from QA?”

“Yeah?”

“Not true,” Steve says sheepishly. “There was a training session, but no leftovers. I just ordered the pizza myself.”

Tony gasps. “What the fuck, Steve!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” Tony flails, grabbing at the first non-damaging kitchen item nearby – a washcloth – that he balls up and throws at Steve face. Steve, of course, just closes his eyes and lets the washcloth bounce off his face sadly. Tony yells, “This is even worse!”

“How is this worse?” Steve says is disbelief.

“Because you’re – because it’s…” Because Tony stopped being mad at Steve about the dual-role-wielding ages ago. Sure, Tony can hold a grudge like a champ, but the poor choices Steve made due to emotional weakness pale in comparison with Tony’s own emotional weaknesses.

Especially this:

“Because I fucking miss you,” Tony says in a rush. “I miss having Stevens to drop by and brighten up my fucking day out of nowhere, and I miss being able to talk to Cap about all the stupid crap in my head without being judged for it, and it’s – if any of it was actually real then I’m going to have to process that in an actual meaningful way because I’m not dying anymore! I’m not just going to blip off this mortal coil and leave the pieces for everyone else to pick up, and I’m…”

Tony pauses, heaving for breath. There it is. Now Steve knows that Tony’s supposed ‘over it’ attitude was an act, like all the other acts. But this time the act breaks because Tony wants it to break, and wants Steve to see the whole of it.

What makes it worse (better?) is that Steve seems to understand what’s happened. Surprise and hope light up his eyes, and he waits, perfectly patient, for Tony to finish. Bizarrely, it makes Tony want to keep talking.

“I’m gonna be living in a world where you exist,” Tony says. “And it’s… I thought I’d be more relieved when I got the new element and everything stopped smelling like burnt metal, but now the horizon is spread out before me and I’m terrified and I need – I _want_ to talk to someone about it and I kind of want it to be you, but I hate myself for wanting it to be you because I don’t actually know you.”

“You do,” Steve says softly.

“No, I don’t.” Tony shakes his head. “I don’t, I can’t. Really?”

“I exaggerated parts of myself for each role, yes,” Steve admits. “But it was still basically… me.”

“Wilson said you’re a terrible liar.”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, that’s why.”

“No.” Tony presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “No, this isn’t what I… argh.”

Tony breathes into his palms for a while. Steve is silent, but then there’s the faint scrape on the countertop, which when Tony brings his hand down realize was Steve pushing the mug of coffee towards him. Tony takes the mug and takes a long, petulant chug. The caffeine would probably worsen his nerves, but who cares.

After a long moment of nothing, Tony says, “Okay. Tell me something completely new about you.”

“I miss you, too,” Steve says quietly.

“That doesn’t count!”

“Okay.” Steve purses his lips – which is _fucking_ _adorable_ – while he thinks. “Ahhh, all right. I have really good balance in general, so I take to activities like skateboarding and ice-skating really easily. Bucky dragged me to a skating rink when we were kids, mostly ‘cause he thought he could get a laugh out of my faceplanting into the ice.”

Tony nods. “All right, a start. Now tell me something that really matters.”

Steve gets it without Tony having to elaborate. Tony told Steve things that he wouldn’t have, if he’d known the full extent of their relationships.

“I, uh.” Steve grimaces, which Tony hopes is a promising sign. “I believe that being a good person is a conscious choice. It’s something we have to work at continuously. And I try – I hope – to be a good person, in everything I do. But working with you made me see that I still have a long way to go. I still make assumptions about people. I did about you – when I first read about you in SHIELD files, then when I met you. Each time I was wrong, again and again, and it made me realize that if I had met you without all the cloak and dagger, I wouldn’t have…” Steve trails off, eyes wide as though shocked at his own admission. “If I had the chance to do it all again, I’m not sure what I’d do differently. Does a good person even think like that? I don’t know.”

Tony realizes: _shit_, he’s done for. He’d hoped for something mediocre, but Steve’s given Tony a knife to stick in him. Putting aside the courage of admitting it, it’s something that Tony can, terrifyingly, relate to.

But out loud Tony says, “Sounds like you’ve got to figure that out.”

“Yeah,” Steve says pensively.

Tony’s very, very done for. He hasn’t let himself really process the full implications of Steve’s behavior over the past months – his protectiveness, his gentleness, and all that talk of _feelings _and _making space for potential partners_ – because he’d blocked it behind the door that was Tony’s imminent death and, when that death was no longer immediate, the door that was the unlikelihood of ever seeing Steve in a non-professional capacity again.

Both doors are gone, and there’s just Tony, defenseless. There’s just Tony, bubbling with energy which now kicks him into action, sending him wobbling forward to grab the lapels of Steve’s stupid jacket.

Steve doesn’t see it coming. His eyes are distracted and unprepared when Tony leans up to kiss him.

It’s not the best kiss. It’s more a clumsy mash of lips together, which isn’t helped by how Steve’s hands are kind of in the way and force Tony into an awkward angle. After a beat of non-reaction Steve kisses back carefully, while bringing a hand up to gently cup Tony’s arm. It’s something, but not much for Tony to work with, and somewhat of a letdown after all the build-up in his head.

Tony pulls back. Steve may be smiling but his eyes are open, which is mildly horrifying. Were his eyes open the whole time?

“Okay.” Tony clears his throat and pats his tank top down, mostly to give his restless hands something to do and cover his embarrassment. “Sorry to spring that on you. Don’t worry, won’t happen again.”

“Ever?” Steve jolts and adds quickly, “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to. I don’t – I’m not asking for anything.”

“I don’t want to? _You_ don’t want to.”

Steve frowns. “What?”

“Look, if you’re not interested anymore, that’s fine. Just because you’re here, and you think I’m an okay person you want to hang around with and not die, that doesn’t automatically mean the rest of it is—”

“I just told you that everything I did, everything I told you, that was me,” Steve says in bewilderment. “All of it. I like you very much.”

“Didn’t feel it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Didn’t. Feel it.” Tony shrugs. “Unless that other time I kissed you was a one-off, I guess.”

Steve narrows his eyes. The hair at the back of Tony’s neck prickles.

“I just don’t want you think all I’m interested in is sex,” Steve says.

“Pshhft, obviously.”

“What?”

“Obviously,” Tony repeats slowly. “Of course you’re not just after sex. If you were, you’d have slept with me already. You had the chance but backed off, because honesty and integrity compelled you, et cetera. Yes, I’m stupid and miss things that are right under my nose, but my hindsight’s doing okay.”

Steve stares at him, perplexed and intrigued and incredulous. It’s a good look, and possibly one that Tony would like to make his mission to be the cause of for as long as is possible.

Then Steve’s face shifts, eyebrows and mouth drawing in thoughtfully as he considers Tony. When he finally moves, it’s to make a careful, narrow circle around the countertop until he’s standing in front of Tony. Steve’s a tall man, Tony thinks. Not new information, but information that is worth contemplating again when he’s effectively boxing Tony against a kitchen counter.

“So,” Steve says, business-like (_Cap_). “You want me to kiss you properly, is that it? Like I mean it?”

“Like you mean it.” Tony is being truthful, even. But then his breath catches when Steve touches him, two hands on his waist, light at first but firmer when Tony’s mouth opens in surprise.

“What about that?” Steve inclines his head at the arc reactor. “Do I need to—”

“It’s okay to touch it,” Tony says. “Just don’t make grabbing motions at it, I don’t… just…”

“All right.” Steve nods slowly, his eyes on Tony’s face, and leans in.

In some ways, this is almost their first kiss. Tony knows who Steve really is, Steve knows Tony’s fears and worries, and Steve’s eyes are blue. Steve’s mouth hovers over Tony’s, soft and warm, while his breath brushes lightly over Tony’s lips. Tony tips his head up, seeking, and Steve comes in, a press at first before slanting to fit their mouths together. Steve’s eyes flutter shut.

_Oh._

Tony moves, and Steve moves with him, their lips parting and closing together in a liquid heat rhythm. It’s slow and deliberate, but not shy. There is no hesitation in Steve’s motions, just a steady press and give and coaxing of sensation, where every glide of Steve’s lips has pleasure curling low in Tony’s stomach. Here it is, here they are, here’s that chemistry given fruition and proven to be real.

Tony puts his hands on Steve’s upper arms. _Biceps_. He curls his fingers to learn Steve, and Steve responds by crowding Tony against the counter, their chests touching. Steve’s hands don’t roam, but that doesn’t mean Tony can’t keep going, sliding his palms up over Steve’s shoulders and into his hair.

“Oh.” Steve’s forehead almost knocking against Tony’s when he sways forward. “Tony.”

“Yeah.” Tony curls his fingers in the strands of Steve’s hair and pulls him in, bringing their mouths back together. Steve is making more noises now, pleased sighs and breathy gasps, each one swallowed by Tony’s kisses. Tony pushes his tongue into Steve’s mouth and uses the tip to draw a clumsy line down Steve’s tongue, which makes Steve shudder and cling tighter to Tony’s waist..

The heat between them builds, unhurried but undeniable. Where the last time they made out Tony had been shocked by his arousal, now he welcomes it, relishes it, nourishes it.

Tony hooks a foot at the back of Steve’s calf, pressing his heel against the strong curve of muscle there. Steve’s hips suddenly jerk forward, knocking Tony against the counter. There’s a clatter of ceramic, and Tony turns quickly, catching the mug that jolted at the impact.

Steve’s hard-on is a pressing weight through the denim of his jeans. Tony registers it for the half-second that it brushes the front of his thigh, before Steve draws away.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve says.

“S’fine.” Tony pulls the mug towards himself and, with his one leg still clinging onto the back of Steve’s, takes another long gulp.

Steve blinks, his dazed arousal clearing into bewilderment. “Really, Tony?”’

“It’s the good stuff,” Tony says defensively. “It’ll get cold.”

“It is?”

“Sure. If you’re going to come upstairs. To see my bedroom.” Tony peers up at Steve over the rim of the mug. He could be more flirtatious about it, but Steve’s a smart guy, he knows what’s what. “If you wanna.”

Steve hesitates. His ridiculous eyelashes sweep up and down as he blinks slowly, thinking. “If… you’ll let me take you out to dinner? After, or… on another occasion?”

“Sounds like you got the order back to front,” Tony says lightly.

“I did get a lot of things out of order,” Steve agrees.

“Sure, but bright side! Can I just say that I’m really freaking glad you don’t work for me anymore?”

Steve laughs. It’s a quick laugh but genuine, warm and wonderful, and it surprises Tony so much that he almost spills the coffee.

Tony stares up at Steve as the other realization grows stronger: Tony has it so bad for this man. _So_ bad.

“I’m glad, too,” Steve says, heartfelt. He lifts a thumb to Tony’s chin, drawing a line through the hair there. His eyebrows jump up, as though he’s excited to learn how the texture feels against his fingertips.

“You can take me to dinner after,” Tony says.

Steve’s smile softens. “Thank you.”

“But first…” Tony downs the rest of the coffee and casts the mug aside. Steve still has that small, helpless smile, as though Tony can do the most ridiculous thing in the world and he’d still want to be there to watch him, or help him, or be ridiculous right there with him. “Look, just pretend I still remember how to be cool and suave, all right?”

“You’re very cool and suave, Tony,” Steve says graciously.

Tony really, really likes how Steve says his name. “Thanks.”

+

They go upstairs, Tony leading the way and pointing out various details – artwork, rooms, junk left lying around – as they go. Steve is gentlemanly about the whole thing. He doesn’t push at all, and barely touches Tony the whole walk up while giving Tony plenty of chances to change his mind. It’s a nice gesture.

The master bedroom is a little messy, but Tony figures that that’s just part of the charm.

It’s kinda surreal having Steve in here. Tony has to take a second to shake the strangeness of it away, and focus instead on Steve taking in the room, the bed, and then Tony himself. Steve hasn’t really stopped smiling, and he tilts his head as his gaze moves down and back up Tony’s body. Steve’s entitled to it, really, what with Tony’s fervent study of the cut of Steve’s jeans.

“So, hey,” Tony says. “How long will you be in town?”

“Didn’t give Fury a date,” Steve says.

Tony walks oh-so-casually to the side cabinet, where he rummages through the drawer. Steve, meanwhile, so-so-casually removes his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair by the wall. The dark shirt underneath has short sleeves and oh, _hello_, here are guns Tony’s been teased with.

“That sounds irresponsible,” Tony says.

“I’m still helping with the clean-up,” Steve says. “There’s some contacts I have to meet up with while I’m here, but… I’m not sure if I want to go back to an ops team, after most of my previous team turned out to be Hydra.”

“Not gonna keep shadowing Wilson?”

“No, but can we…” Steve clears his throat. “Can we not talk about Sam while we’re here? It’s kind of…”

“What, you embarrassed?” Tony says teasingly. “You think Captain America’s gonna be watching us Santa-style while we bone?”

“Oh geez, Tony,” Steve laughs. “Santa-like? Naughty or nice?”

“Nice, I think,” Tony says, brushing a foil packet against his chin thoughtfully. “This time, at least. C’mon.” He holds a hand out to draw Steve in.

They resume kissing, proving that the break in between did little to ruin their momentum. Tony tosses the lube and condom onto the bed, which they then climb into. Steve folds his legs underneath him into a sitting position, and takes Tony’s wrist to tug gently, guiding Tony to sit on his lap.

“Comfy?” Steve says.

When Tony nods, Steve puts his hands under the hem of Tony’s tank top and pushes it up. Once it’s off, Tony’s hands come to rest on the sides of Steve’s face, and he gets to watch the darkening of Steve’s eyes as he takes in the stretch of uncovered skin. Steve settles his palms on Tony’s stomach, then brings them in slow sweeps up and down Tony’s ribs. A furrow thickens between Steve’s eyebrows as he concentrates on memorizing the feel of Tony’s chest under his palms.

So this is what it’s like to have all of Steve’s focus on him. Tony shivers a little – from this knowledge, from Steve’s touch, from the general reality of the fact that they’re doing this. Steve’s hands are calloused but his touch so incredibly gentle. He avoids the arc reactor but thumbs Tony’s nipples, luring them to hardened peaks before kissing them.

Tony is a tad frustrated by the lack of fiery urgency, for this is not at all like that night in the Tower when they’d kissed for the first time. That said, at that time they’d both not been thinking much beyond the immediate fuck. It can’t be like that here and now, not with a messy near-past behind them and an uncertain but hopeful stretch of future in front.

But oh, Tony wants. He _wants_.

“Okay, yep, that’s nice,” Tony sighs. He feels Steve smile against his pectoral, tongue laving the already spit-slick nub. “Can I get, can I—” He twists his fingertips into the back of Steve’s shirt.

“Wait, just give me a…” Steve draws the next nipple into his mouth, suckling eagerly and nosing the faint hairs there. His hands fan large and stable at the small of Tony’s back, giving him something to lean into.

An interesting thing about sitting on Steve like this, is that it forces Tony’s legs to open wide, his knees planted on the outside of Steve’s thighs. His hamstrings are drawn tight, which just draws more attention to the blood coursing south and settling there.

“Steve,” Tony says.

“Just a sec.” Steve’s mouthing at Tony’s pec now, taking small biting kisses that make Tony gasp.

“_Steve_.”

“Okay, okay.” Steve tilts his head up, his eyes damn practically sparkling when he meets Tony’s. Steve is breathing hard, and his lips are rosy pink. “What do you want?”

“Your dick in me would be nice. I mean. We’re gonna do this a lot, right? So you can… take your time… later…” Tony coughs. “Look, it’s been a while and I’m kind of needing it.”

Steve’s grin is one of utterly perfect handsomeness. “You _are_ needy.”

“Hey!” But Tony laughs, and Steve laughs with him, and it’s nice.

It’s really nice.

Also, a properly verbalized request gets the job done. There’s something to this open communication business, after all.

Steve sheds his shirt, which prompts Tony to go, “Oh my god,” because Rudy Stevens’s wardrobe has a _lot_ to answer for. Tony paws at Steve’s unbelievable torso, which is all strength and broadness like he’d been designed based on one of Tony’s long-gone and discarded-as-unrealistic teen wet dreams. Tony’s only stopped from burying his face in between those lightly-dusted pecs when Steve gently nudges Tony off his lap so he can take off his pants and underwear. Still, Tony is persistent about touching him – it is _vital_ that he run his fingertips over the muscles leading over Steve’s ribs down to his abs.

“Tony.” Steve puts a hand at Tony’s hip, his thumb tapping against Tony’s belt. “I know the term is ‘get into your pants’, but it’s hard to do that when you’re still wearing said pants.”

“Yep, I definitely missed that sense of…” Tony finally pulls his gaze away from Steve’s chest, and notices the V leading down Steve’s hips to a just as impressive set of thighs, plus a thickened cock hanging between. “Oh, hello.”

“Don’t mind me,” Steve says. “Just getting some air.”

“Give me a sec, all right,” Tony huffs.

Tony loses his pants, there’s some very pleasant mutual groping, and Tony climbs back onto Steve’s lap and wraps his arms comfortably around Steve’s shoulders. He holds on, face tucked against Steve’s neck, while Steve figures out the lube bottle and eventually bumps the tip of a finger against his opening. Steve teases, but only until Tony grumbles a complaint, and then he’s slipping one finger, then two, inside him.

Steve has thick fingers, which curl in deep and slightly uncomfortable but also kinda nice. He’s very careful, testing the give of Tony’s opening and pausing whenever he’s too tight, and it’s so goddamn _polite_ that Tony laughs breathlessly against Steve’s shoulder. Sure, it’s been a while, but it’s like riding a bike, really.

For a second, Tony is startled all over again by how unexpected this is. Despite knowing that Steve was visiting today, Tony hadn’t dared hope sex and reconciliation would be on the agenda. Steve surprises him; Steve has been surprising him as Cap and Stevens and himself, both in good ways and bad, but preferably only in good ways from now on.

Chemistry or not, it wasn’t inevitable that they’d fall into bed together. Their circumstances had to turn a certain path or play out a certain way for them to come together. That makes this precious.

Tony nuzzles his face across Steve’s cheek, seeking out his mouth. Steve smiles into the kiss, multitasking beautifully with his fingers now plunging two-knuckles deep into Tony.

Seems kind of unfair for Steve, though. Tony works a hand into the space between their bodies, finding the length of Steve’s cock. Steve grunts at Tony’s touch, where Tony’s fingers draw long teasing lines along the shaft, making said cock jump and twitch. Tony closes his eyes and memorizes the texture of it – silky smooth except where it’s lined with veins, and the neat head up top, damp now with pre-come.

“Stop, no, hey,” Steve says tightly. Tony immediately lets go, and Steve exhales with relief. “You keep doing that, I’m not going to be able to…”

“Really?” Tony raises his eyebrows. He hasn’t even used his mouth yet, which is something to file for later.

“You have very nice hands,” Steve says earnestly. “And I’ve kind of…”

“You’ve thought about them?” Tony presses a grinning kiss to the space under Steve’s left eye. “You’ve thought about me? About doing things with me?”

“Well… yes?” Steve sounds confused, as if this were self-evident. “I was never going to have the chance—”

“You _thought_ you were never going to have the chance.”

“I thought I was never going to have the chance, so I guess I, uh. Indulged? In my head? And now that it’s happening it’s…” Steve is literally fucking Tony with his hand, but it’s saying _this_ out loud that has color rising on his cheeks and neck. “I still can’t quite believe it.”

“Aww, look at you.” Tony plants another kiss on him, this one square on the mouth. “Any fantasies worth sharing?”

“Oh,” Steve says with a jolt. “Oh. Um. Okay. Can’t say I had any about being with you in your Malibu house. It was mostly in the, uh, Tower.”

“Naturally. In my office?”

Steve turns away sharply, and releases a choked breath. “Yeah. On your desk. On _my_ desk. In the elevator. In the SHIELD jeep.”

“Holy shit,” Tony says with a laugh. “That’s a busy brain. I can even make some of that happen.”

“Tony!” Steve grabs the base of his dick and squeezes. “Have mercy, c’mon.”

“Okay.” Tony nods, kindly dropping that line of inquiry for now. “Another time.”

At Steve’s urging, Tony turns to kneel facing the bed’s headboard, his knees spread apart and hands braced on said headboard. After the faint crinkle of his putting on the condom, Steve comes up behind Tony, his hands on Tony’s waist to help adjust the angle and make sure he’s comfortable.

“You’re not gonna come the moment you go in, right?” Tony says.

“Let’s find out.” Steve’s hand gets a firm grip on the soft flesh of Tony’s inner thigh, a thumb digging in to pull open the space between Tony’s buttcheeks.

Tony closes his eyes. He breathes slow and steady, and lets himself enjoy the careful lube-wet brush of Steve’s fingers at this opening, which is soon replaced by the nudge of a rather larger cockhead. This part goes a little dreamlike, cotton-soft and hazy, as the whole world fades away save the careful but deliberate intrusion down below.

The furled muscle is pushed open and kept open. Tony’s breaths grow short despite his best efforts, mind trying to defeat matter as Steve’s thickness finds its way in, seeking space to make itself comfortable. It seems to go on forever, up until there’s a gentle rest of Steve’s balls against Tony’s ass. Steve’s arms come around Tony, holding him close and steady and warm.

That’s a lot, Tony wants to say. But mostly he’s trying to breathe, and trying to stop himself from clenching defensively around the foreign girth.

Tony reaches back, fingers finding Steve’s hip, and urges him to move.

Steve does, slowly and shallowly as he gets their bodies acquainted. Tony feels his opening start to relax, and the awkward fullness inside eases in increments until – _oh_ – it suddenly turns sweet. This is it, this is what Tony wanted, and he’s moving with it, rolling his hips in time with Steve’s thrusts.

It’s good. Steve’s in tune with his body and is practically a gymnast, so of course he’s good – settling into a rhythm of up and down, tense and relax, force and gravity. Their thighs smack loudly as they rock together, Tony sinking onto Steve’s hardness again and again and again. He gives up trying to hold onto the headboard, because the warm, solid body behind him is far more interesting to grab at blindly.

This is also about the time that Tony’s breath somewhat returns, enabling him to provide feedback. He gasps, moans, whimpers, and offers the occasional, “Fuck yes, right there, right there, like that, oh my god,” that has Steve’s hands roaming all over Tony’s chest and arms, while his hips fuck up into Tony with confident enthusiasm.

Steve is a fucking metronome, his cock inexorable and persistent, barely giving Tony the chance to recover from each thrust before the next one is happening, and tightening the knot of pleasure deep inside.

Tony might’ve feared that it’s been too long, and that he’d be too tight to enjoy anything more than some friendly fingering. But no, his body’s fully with the program, pleasure systems are all go, and the lube-slick friction around Steve’s cock is just delicious bliss.

And that’s before Steve starts making friendly with his prostate.

“Oh shit,” Tony gasps. He writhes back against Steve, trying to get him deeper. Of course Steve’s right on it, bringing his shaft into teasing brushes against that sensitive spot, which are at once too much and not enough. “Fuck, yes, right there, fuck me, fuck it, just – just put it there, put it in, I need, deeper, deeper – _oh god._”

Steve makes a sound against Tony’s shoulder. A laugh? It sounds like a laugh.

“What?” Tony snaps.

“You’re really loud,” Steve says.

“Are you _complaining_?”

Steve responds by sliding a hand down Tony’s stomach, but ignores Tony’s erection for the space behind Tony’s balls. Tony’s kind of occupied, so he doesn’t realize what Steve’s doing before the guy’s pressing two fingertips against Tony’s perineum right in time with a thrust. His prostate nailed from both sides, Tony can’t help do much more than yelp and jerk wildly in the circle of Steve’s arms.

“Fuck!” Tony yells, once he’s stopped seeing stars. “More, don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Tony’s vaguely aware there’s more going on than just Steve’s dick driving him out of his mind. Steve’s hands haven’t stopped roving over him since this started – over his neck, down his arms, across the sweep of his stomach – with gleeful greediness. That’s all really nice and Tony does appreciate it a lot, but Steve’s cock is finally hitting that point where it feels like all of the searing pleasure is tied up in the triangle of his hips, and especially the narrow opening that Steve’s commandeering with energetic efficiency.

“Touch,” Tony chokes, squeezing desperately around Steve. “Please, please, just—”

Steve’s strong hand tightens around Tony’s cock. He doesn’t even need to pump it, just the slight squeeze upward is enough for Tony to gasp and come wildly.

It goes on for a while. There’s a lot of pressure that needs releasing, wave upon wave that slows just as Steve’s thrusts also slow.

When Tony comes back to himself, all his weight is resting back against Steve. He’d kicked his legs out somewhere during the proceedings, and there’s a slight cramp on his left calf. Steve is entertaining himself by sucking a hickey onto Tony’s shoulder.

“Oh wow,” Tony says breathlessly. He wriggles a little, which makes Steve grunt. “You’re still hard.”

“Yeah, can I—” Steve’s voice is thick with strain. “Can you, can I move you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says quickly. “Whatever you want.”

What Steve wants is to carefully lay Tony over a handful of pillows. It’s really comfy, especially in post-orgasmic bliss, so Tony’s perfectly happy to sprawl stomach-down onto a cloud of memory foam. Once there, Steve takes a gentle but firm grip on Tony’s hips, shifting the angle of his body into the best position to fuck, which is all sorts of hot and makes Tony mildly sad that he’s already come.

It’s still fun, though. The mattress shifts when Steve digs his knees and feet in, and then he’s fucking Tony in earnest. His thrusts are different: strong and sharper on the snap inward, and almost knocking Tony’s teeth together each time he lands. Tony can’t get hard again but he shivers from the thrill of it, for every time Steve pushes in, the dual impact of his cock and thighs drive Tony’s hips upward.

Steve chases his relief, and Tony helps him along. He murmurs encouragement, he clenches at each glide in, and he reaches behind him to stroke whatever part of Steve he can reach.

“Feels good,” Tony says with a hum. Now that he’s not distracted by arousal, he can appreciate the noises of Steve’s fucking him. There’s the slap of skin on skin, now damp with sweat, and the wetter slick between Tony’s legs. Steve doesn’t make much noise himself, save quiet gasps from the back of his throat, but somehow that’s hot, too. Where he offers little in words, his body speaks for him.

Steve’s thoughtful enough not to rest his full weight on Tony, but his body heat seeps across the narrow space between them like a lovely living blanket. Steve’s face is pressed tight to Tony’s left shoulder blade, as though he’s trying to get as close to Tony as is humanly possible. He nuzzles at Tony, and his breaths come in harsh puffs that are interspersed with deep inhales of Tony’s skin. His fingers tighten pleasantly on Tony’s hips as he draws close.

“Damn, I must be so sloppy by now,” Tony says. “You’re getting all the way in there, wow. You can definitely go harder, though. Steve? Harder, it’s okay, it feels good.”

“Tony,” Steve gasps.

Tony realizes that he’s grinning against the pillow. Euphoria washes over him like sunlight, making him dizzy. Yes, he’s just had a fantastic orgasm, but it’s more than that. It’s that he had that orgasm with _Steve_, who likes him, and likes him for more than just this but seems to be having an all-around good time still fucking him.

“I’m gonna fuck you in my office,” Tony says. “Right on my desk, both of us facing the wall so we won’t be able to see if anyone’s walking up to the door. Hell, we should figure out a way to do it in my chair, and I want you in a jacket that actually _fits_ so I mess you up while you’re wearing it, shove my tie into your mouth maybe—”

Steve cries out. His hands fly off Tony’s waist and he grabs the bedsheets instead, twisting them into knots. His hips stutter, losing their rhythm for urgency, and he slams into Tony one last time as he finally comes.

Tony laughs, and laughs some more when Steve’s arms go wobbly and he fumble-falls on top of Tony. He’s feeling pretty damn jubilant, so what? It’s not even just about the sex, or even just about Steve. Tony’s not _dying_, and he hasn’t really celebrated that.

Meanwhile, Steve’s breathing slowly calms. He’s still grinding against Tony’s ass, but he makes a dismayed sound, as if disappointed that he’s already come and can’t keep going.

“Hey.” Tony strokes the backs of his fingers against Steve’s waist. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Tony says, content. “I know.”

Steve pushes himself off Tony, his softening dick slipping out of him. Tony misses Steve’s weight already, but gamely rolls off the pillow, his back landing on the mattress with a pleasing thump. He’s going to ache like hell in a couple of hours but this is one of those good aches, and well-worth revisiting over and over.

Also good? Is when Steve gets up, and his legs are shaky when he walks over to the bathroom.

Tony calls out, insisting that there’s no rush, but Steve returns to the bed with a washcloth, and is stubbornly business-like as he wipes Tony down. Tony lets him, because this gives him a chance to indulge in a slow study of Steve.

The man’s a soldier through and through, which isn’t usually Tony’s scene, but there is too much else about him that lures Tony in – his optimism, intelligence, softness wrapped up in the steel, and that delightful but never cruel sense of humor. Of course Tony wants to spend time with him, get to know him, and work their way back to the easy comfort he’d had a taste of separately with Cap and Stevens.

But there’s the flipside of that to consider, too. Tony feels the question start worm its way up his throat: What does Steve get out of this? Aside from sex, which both of them agree is far from the only draw here.

The way that Steve’s now cleaning them up has Tony wondering if Steve some sort of caretaker fetish. He noticed Tony because Tony needed taking care of, both by his Stevens persona and his Cap persona, which is sweet but doesn’t bode well if this is going to last for more than a hot couple of weeks.

But then Steve puts the washcloth away and lies down, tucking himself in the space between Tony’s torso and upraised arm. Tony realizes, to his delight, that Steve is _snuggling_, and stares up at the ceiling in an enthralled daze as Steve puts his head on Tony’s chest. Steve, of course, takes care to avoid the arc reactor, and drapes one arm across Tony’s torso in making himself comfortable.

“Huh,” Tony says.

“This okay?” Steve says.

“Yep.” Tony lifts the arm behind Steve, and pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair. Steve sighs contentedly. “Very okay.”

So here’s the answer to that question: Tony is needy, but Steve’s needy, too. Steve wants connection, and is surprised to have found it in Tony as much – maybe even more than – how Tony was surprised to find it in Steve. And Steve wanted it so much that he risked his dual identities to get a greater taste of it.

Steve-as-Cap pretty much confessed the lot during their conversation in the motel, albeit between the lines. He yearns, and has been left wanting because of the nature of his work, or the circles he moves around in, or some other lack that Tony doesn’t know of. He yearns, and has found.

“Which hotel are you staying at?” Tony says.

“One of the Best Westerns, can’t remember,” Steve says.

“Get your stuff, bring it here. Plenty of room.”

There’s a pause. “I don’t know, seems pretty fast for me to be moving in.”

Tony plants a hand on Steve’s face, which has Steve bursting with laughter.

“Smart-ass,” Tony says. He looks down, just as Steve’s craning his head to look up. God, he’s stunning when he’s grinning like that. “You know what I mean. And you know I can kick you out whenever I want.”

“Yes, I do,” Steve agrees. “My stuff’s still in the car, actually.”

“You came here as soon as you landed?”

“Of course.” Steve’s smile goes soft and gooey. “Missed you, too, remember?”

Tony grins back, but he says lightly, “You’re only saying that because SHIELD’s swamped with Hydra clean-up and you’re having a post-Cap hangover.”

“A what hangover?”

“You liked being Cap,” Tony says. “Or, at least, having the reach you did when you had the Captain America mantle. Sure, trying to live up to the name was a lot to deal with, but it gave you a chance to step up and do more to help people.”

“And you’d know about wanting to do as much as you can to help people.”

“I guess it’s crossed my mind.”

Steve digs his fingers into Tony’s side, making him choke-laugh. They shove at each other a little, limbs tangling and breaths thickening, until Steve’s climbed his way up Tony’s body to kiss him. So they kiss, slow and languid and without purpose, until Steve draws back and settles his chin on Tony’s chest to look at him.

“Earlier, downstairs,” Steve says. “You said that when you solved the palladium problem, you were terrified instead of relieved. Why?”

Tony sighs. Nothing gets past Steve, especially not now.

But that’s the point, though, isn’t it? This is why Tony let Steve back in. So they could have this, and work to actual closeness and on their own terms. Steve knows it, too. Though he’s taking care not to push, he can’t pretend to _not_ care when Tony drops little details like that. That’s not who he is.

And Tony doesn’t want Steve to be anyone but exactly who he is.

“When I thought I was dying,” Tony says, “I could see what I had to do, and it was simple. I had a time limit, and the work I needed to do with SI and SHIELD fit in that timeline. But now the limit is gone, and I need to think bigger. A lot bigger. I literally should not be alive, or have this many second chances, unless it was for a reason.”

Tony doesn’t expect Steve to laugh or belittle him, but it’s still shocking when Steve nods seriously, as though all of that makes perfect sense.

“It’s overwhelming,” Steve says. “Too many things to think about at once.”

“Kinda,” Tony says. “There was also, well, _you_ to figure out.”

“I’m here now,” Steve says gently.

“You have Hydra to deal with.”

“This is important, too,” Steve says. “And I think that… whatever you figure out, I’d like to be a part of it. We’re a good team.”

“We weren’t a _team_, Steve,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “You were the hero, and I was your tech.”

“You _are_ a hero, Tony,” Steve says, which is sweet, though hilarious. “But sure, maybe the dynamic needs some tweaking. It was still good.” He tilts his head, considering. “You already have some ideas, don’t you?”

“Yeah, there’s something, but it’s… I don’t know, it’s kind of.” Tony clears his throat self-consciously. “There was a thing, a design I toyed with while I was with Yinsen. Didn’t have to do anything with it, since Wilson showed up wings a-blazing, but since I’m here, and not dying, and the arc reactor’s _much_ stronger and more stable…” He shrugs. “Maybe.”

Steve nods. “I’d love to see it, whatever it is.”

“Oh my god.” Tony drops his head back onto the pillow and stares up at the ceiling in amazement. Steve makes a confused sound, and climbs up to lean over Tony, a question in his eyes. Tony says, still reeling from it, “You really would. Wow.”

Steve just frowns. “It's not like it's difficult.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr post!](https://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/187643106161/i-finished-the-thing-role-of-a-lifetime-60806)
> 
> Thanks to y'all who commented as this was being posted, it really helped a LOT, I appreciate it bunches! And hi to those who read the lot when it's finished, thanks for following this journey. :)
> 
> Also many SUPER thanks to flyingcatstiel for a bunch of the details that ended up in this story, plus the edits & incredible handholding & overall knocking this thing into better shape. Remaining mistakes are my own, feel free to let me know in the comments.


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